


Pawns in a King's Game

by LemonLyman



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bittersweet, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-05-14 22:05:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5760628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonLyman/pseuds/LemonLyman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a wedding that first brought them together. Rhaegar wanted an alliance. Lyanna Stark paid the price.</p>
<p>It is another wedding that brings them back. Nineteen years later Lyanna is still paying. Though this time she understands the southorn games played in King's Landing. And she refuses to let him take advantage of her again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Upcoming Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> This story will have a time skip eventually, but for now imagine that this is around the time of when Harrenhal would have taken place.
> 
> The ages of the characters are just ball park to give you all an idea.
> 
> Lyanna- 16 years  
> Rhaegar- 24 years  
> Brandon- 24 years  
> Ned- 22 years  
> Robert- 22 years  
> Elia- 26 years  
> Ashara- 23 years  
> Catelyn- 15 years

Spring began to erupt all around. Green blades of grass sprang from the ground, warm air danced about, bird songs sounded from the godswood. While Lyanna was fond winter she had a special place in her heart for the spring. It was a time more hospitable to horse riding and being outside. She was almost at her wits end staying in Winterfell. Her home was busier than she had ever seen it. The wedding will be over soon enough she thought. 

A small scoff bubbled from her lips. Oh Brandon. The thought of him being married amused her greatly especially when the union was to one so proper as Catelyn Tully. She enjoyed the young trout very much. But her brother and her were simply different creatures. Father seems confident in the union though. Perhaps they will get on well together despite Lyanna’s doubts.

“Lyanna,” a gruff voice called behind her. She swiveled around to see her darling brother standing in the doorway. “Hello Ned,” Lyanna’s feet closed the distance between them, her arms wrapped around his neck. Her Ned arrived to Winterfell earlier that morning from the Eyrie. This was the first moment they had alone. During his time away Lyanna had only forgotten how soothing she found his presence. 

While she loved Brandon and Benjen dearly, Ned always had a special place in her heart. He was unlike the other three Stark children. He did not have wolf blood coursing through his veins like Brandon and she did. He was not easy going and jovial like Benjen. Ned centered them whether it was in person or through letters.

“Oh how I have missed your company, brother.” She gave him a last squeeze before pulling back. 

Ned gave her a loving smile. He regretted missing so much of his sister’s life. He had not often had the chance to see her. Sometimes several years would go by without a visit. The last time he had actually resided in Winterfell was when she was but a wee child.

“I actually came looking for you. I hoping to spend time with my favorite sister before our home is overrun with guests.”

“That sounds marvelous! I have been looking for an excuse to miss needle working with the septa, and as far as excuses go you are perfect.” A wolfish grin graced her young face.

“Lyanna, when is the last time you actually gave an excuse for troubling your poor septa?” 

Mock insult crossed her face at this. As if she was the most functional, well to do lady the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen. “Well I have never been so insulted!”

Ned was still laughing when she cut him off. “Now enough joking at my expense. If you are not still tired from your travels would a ride suit? I fear I may go madder than the King if we stay within these stones.”

“Sshh, Lya,” Ned face turned to a soft scold, a face only for her, somewhere between serious and amused. “The words you speak are treason. I imagine you would live a hard life without a tongue.”

“It is only treason if the wrong person hears,” was her simple reply. With that she turned around, her small figure walking down the corridor towards the stables. 

Some things are as reliable as the sun rising in the morning, Ned thought, his sister’s lack of propriety being one. 

 

****************************

 

Eddard Stark had not spent much time home. For the best part of his youth was spent as a ward for Jon Arryn, Lord of the Vale. He was not accustomed to the crisp weather of the North, yet being on top of a horse, chasing after his sister felt natural. There was a small pang in his heart as he watched she drop her head back in a bawdy laugh. She would not have her freedom forever. She has to know that, right? Ned wondered. He shook off his worry, there would be plenty of time for that later on.

Hours past riding under branches, in open fields, through streams. By the time they trotted towards back the sun was dipping below the horizon. Tom, the stable boy, approached upon seeing them. “Good evening, milord and milady. Your lord father has been asking your whereabouts.”

“Thank you, Tom. We will be sure to seek him out upon returning to the castle.” Lyanna gave him a kind smile as she dismounted. There had been times when the young boy had provided excuses for her disappearances. She was very grateful, and confident in saying that on at least several occasions he had been a true life saver.

“Yes, milday. He also said to remind you to wash up before supper is served.” 

Ned saw his sister roll her eyes, “As if I have anyone to impress,” she mumbles as they make their way inside. 

 

*****************************

 

Low torchlight danced across the hall. Lord Rickard Stark sat at the head of the table as his careful eyes watched his children. It was moments like these he most missed his wife. Sweet Lyarra. She would have been so much better at raising these children than he. Maybe even his Lyanna would have learned how to properly stitch. Gods know the septa tried to teach her. 

Lyanna looked up from her plate to see her father’s kind eyes staring at her. She gave him a small, quizzical brow and he returned with a small smile. The girl shook her head as the guest sitting next to her called for attention. 

“As I was saying, my lady, I do not fancy jousting. I prefer a dual any day.” Lord Baratheon, her brother’s travel companion, was visiting for the wedding and had been a lively conversationalist.

“Are you scared of falling from your horse, my lord?” Her voice was full of jest.

“Ha!” The handsome, brown haired man nearly spilt his wine. “I am practically a Dothraki when it comes to commanding beasts. Your dear brother can speak to the matter himself. He was positively envious at my skill,” grinning at the eldest Stark child. He and Brandon were too similar for their own good. They had bonded over all manners of sport. 

Robert Baratheon leaned closer for only her to hear, “Unlike the Dothraki, however, I do not lay with the beasts. I prefer a softer touch.” He sat back in his chair, took a swig of wine, and let an easy smile rest across his face.

Lyanna did her very best not to laugh at the lewd comment. She smothered a chuckle as she took a bite of her food. The boldness was refreshing. Too often had guests treated her like a fragile doll. Ned had written about his friend in some of letters, but it was only in passing. The Lord of Storm’s End was a charming, lighthearted man she noted as she saw him talk with Benjen. Often times he spoke of wars he had never seen and the glory of others. The Seven Kingdoms had not seen a great struggle for many years. Men like Robert had probably not even killed, yet they speak as if they were Aegon the Conqueror.

Still, Lyanna thought as she sipped from her goblet, he was more entertainment than past guests. Actually she thought they were quite similar in many aspects as she and Brandon were. All three were reckless, opinionated, stubborn. 

Her father clearing his throat pulled her attention back. The entire table turned to him. He was in every single one of them, both in blood and mind. Lord Stark instilled honor, courage, and stubbornness in every single one of his children, though how much each used differed greatly. 

“Tomorrow guests will begin to arrive, as you all know. All of the Great Houses are expected to arrive. We are expecting the royal party to arrive the day after next.”

Little Benjen seemed surprised at this news, “But Father, why would the royal family travel all this way for Brandon’s wedding?” 

It was strange. The House Stark was not a great ally of the Crown. Very rarely did any member of the royal family travel such a distance away from King’s Landing.

The emotion of Lord Rickard’s face was unreadable, “Perhaps it is a sign of good faith, son. Our family holds special importance because of our power in the North. Anyway, it is not the entire family who is coming. From my understanding it is only the Crown Prince, his wife, and a small party. The Tullys will be arriving a week from tomorrow, a night before the wedding. Some Riverland tradition, not to take part in the festivities.”

Everyone at the table nodded. Their father had already given them each a talk about behaving appropriately. Well all but Ned. Sweet Ned would never dishonor their father with raucous behavior like Brandon. Lyanna could not understand why the wedding festivities had to span for so many days. If she were in her father’s place she would be racing to have Brandon married to Catelyn before Lord Hoster Tully could find a reason to protest it.


	2. Arrangements for Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaegar meets with Lord Rickard Stark.

The Kingsroad had been peaceful for the duration of the journey. Rhaegar’s horse neighed softly as he dismounted. Only an hour or two more ride and the royal party would come to the ancient walls of Winterfell. His skin was beginning to crawl with every step that brought him closer.

“Your Grace,” Arthur Dayne approached from behind. “It should only be a moment’s rest. The Princess and her party requested a moment to stretch their legs. 

Rhaegar simply nodded. They had been traveling for a while. A rest was no concern to him. Some part of him wished they never reached Winterfell, for if they did not he would not have to carry through with his plan. It was peculiar for members of the royal party to travel so far for a Northern wedding. Descendants of the first men they liked to refer themselves as. Perhaps so, the Prince thought grimly, but they are not far enough to escape the King’s reach. His father had instructed that he and his wife travel to Winterfell and to report if they heard murmurs of rebellion. 

For all the times his father had proven to be mad, from burning peasants with wildfire to jailing long standing officials because the voices told him to, his paranoia was warranted now.

A meeting of the Great Houses had been called to address the question of the King’s mental state. The talks were to take place under the guise of Lord Rickard Stark’s eldest son’s wedding. Rhaegar did not relish in the idea of removing his father from the Iron Throne, yet he had a duty to his realm. He also had little trust of the lords, if he did not organize this meeting he was sure they would have one without him.

“Arthur,” the lack of formality only existed between two old friends. The Kingsguard looked up from maintain his own horse. “Do you believe that I am wrong to question the line of succession?”

“May I speak honestly, Your Grace?”

“Of course.” He wanted nothing less from his long time friend. 

The knight looked around cautiously before answering. No one else in their party was privy to the Prince’s plan. “It is treasonous to act against a king, yet it is also wrong to take pleasure in setting flame to the poor. The latter jeopardizes the safety and security of the realm. I fear for the time when the King begins to burn more than just the poor and criminals.”

A full minute passed before Rhaegar climbed back atop his horse. His heart heavy, his stomach unsettled by the finality of his decision. “Come now, we have a realm to save,” he said with a tight smile. 

*****************************

Trumpets rang through the air signaling the arrival of the royal party. Residents of Winterfell filled the streets, trying to catch a glimpse of the Prince and Princess. Elia Martell was said to be a beautiful creature, with copper skin and shining, dark hair. It was also said that her husband a sight even more striking than his wife. With long silver hair, deep purple eyes, a lean body Prince Rhaegar Targaryen contrasted the familiar burly image of the Starks. 

Lord Rickard was awaiting the party outside when the Prince dismounted. He was a true Northerner, Rhaegar thought, bearded, weathered, and tough. Unfortunately the Warden of the North made it a habit not to leave his home, even for the celebration of Princess Daenerys Targaryen’s birth several months past he sent his son to represent the North instead of taking the honor himself. 

Next to Rickard stood his eldest son, Brandon Stark. He stood tall next to his father. He had a handsome face with a trimmed beard that sported a cocky smile. Prince Rhaegar had hear rumors of eldest Stark, good with a sword and with maidens. 

Standing in contrast was Eddard Stark, who was a head shorter and solemn. He carried himself like his father. Jon Arryn’s ward was a quiet man. He did not cause the same stir his brother did. Actually, Rhaegar had heard incredibly little about Eddard. With Varys’ spies it would be unlikely that he indulged in vices and still kept them secret.

After Eddard was Lyanna Stark. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in her slight figure. At the tender age of six and ten she was more than old enough to be married. For a moment he wondered why she was not. She was a pretty girl, with a pale complexion. Those gray, stormy eyes glanced up at him despite her head bending down. 

There was something odd about her stare. It was absent of admiration, absent of desire. If asked Rhaegar would have sworn she was bored, unimpressed. The entire situation had him forcing down a chuckle.

Even as a married man with two children most every young lady still gazed at him hungrily. Hands would linger for a moment too long on his arm. Bodies would be pushed too close while complimenting his jousting skill. If one cannot be a queen, then she would settle for consort he supposed. 

There were stories that told of the power past king’s lovers had. Some could bring rulers to their knees with a mere glance. Wars were waged and nations destroyed because of paramours. That was part of the reason Rhaegar had never taken a lover after he had a wife. He never wanted for a there to be a power play among the women in his life.

Of course he had several lovers before. He may have been a prince, but he was also a young man. But eventually it dawned on him that to those women he was a prince first. The last thing he desired was to fall prey to a woman who would compromise the security of his reign, who would use him for her own agenda.

He forced his attention to the youngest Stark, Benjen. A lanky lad with a laidback grin, his friendly, easy-going posture deeply contrasted the rest of his family. I hope he can keep that smile, Rhaegar thought. Life disappoints so frequently it is hard to keep smiling.

***************************

Once the pleasantries were exchanged, and most of the royal party retired to their chambers, Rhaegar heard a knock at his door. It was Ser Arthur Dayne.

“Come in,” the Prince called.

“Hello, Your Grace. Lord Stark has requested your presence.” 

The Prince nodded. He allowed for his friend to guide him to where the Lord of Winterfell was waiting. Despite so many people residing within the castle, it was remarkably quiet. The only sounds that could be heard were the padding of their feet and the occasional clinking of Arthur’s armor.

He knew the ladies were still in their rooms. Elia and Ashara were invited to dine in the garden, but the latter had been feeling under the weather and Elia was never one to leave her friend alone. The journey must have been tough on her, Rhaegar thought.

Eventually the pair came to two large, double doors. The large man standing in front nodded as they stopped in front of him. He softly knocked on the door.

“Thank you, Brodin,” Lord Rickard called from inside the room.

The doors creaked open slowly. Rhaegar saw only the older man sitting at a small study desk. He walked in alone, leaving Ser Arthur outside with Brodin. Gentle streams of light came through the window. Every wall was covered with worn books. Letters were strewn over the desk at which Rickard sat. 

“Hello, my prince. I hope your room is to your liking.” 

“Yes, it is quite nice,” he coughs to clear his throat. This was not the situation he was expecting to be in. His fingers flexed gently in an attempt to calm his nerves. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, Lord Stark, but I was under the impression that this was a meeting about the throne, not just a meeting between you and I.”

Rickard sighed. “I am afraid that some details should be worked out before we meet with the other lords.”

The young man’s brow rose. I don’t understand, he thought. From the ravens I have received there seemed to be a consensus that something must be done about my father. Cautiously, Rhaegar began, “I was under the impression that plans were ready to be made.”

Rickard nodded, “While all the Houses are…concerned about King Aerys’ well being, there are several lords who would prefer to avoid any action that could be considered treasonous. I am sure you understand their caution.” 

Deflated, Rhaegar took a seat across the table from Lord Stark. Of course he understood the reason for concern; however, what was the alternative? Wait until Aerys believed they committed treason? Watch their families burn in the Red Keep? His thoughts were disrupted when Rickard continued.

“A war is the last thing our houses want,” Lord Stark said carefully. His dull, gray eyes were hard against his weathered face. 

Rhaegar’s own gaze turned critical at the subtle warning. Coolly, he responded, “It is not my intention to shed innocent blood. I simply need to know that the Great Houses will stand behind my action to assume the Iron Throne.”

Lord Stark wondered if the young dragon knew that intentions mattered little. Even a prince cannot control the will of the gods. While sitting in an almost steely silence with Rhaegar Targaryen Rickard felt a headache rise in his temples. He was too old for these diplomatic games. The pressure of politics made him glad he lived so far from King’s Landing.

With a sigh, the Old Wolf broke the silence, “We both know we cannot expect anything from the House Martell unless you can secure Princess Elia’s safety. But if you can explain the danger she is in now with Aerys alive, Doran should understand.” 

Rhaegar only nodded to this.

“Jon Arryn is willing to join if the North commits. He is a good man who can be trusted. Now the Lannisters have been thirsting for this opportunity for years. Your father insulted Tywin Lannister when he refused to marry you to Cersei Lannister and lions do not forget. But even though he wants Aerys to lose the throne it does not mean his help will come free. You will have promise him substantial power in order for him to commit. The Tyrells are skittish with committing. If you promise to secure new trading routes to Essos for Mace, however, Highgarden will not reject your claim to the throne.”  
Listening to Rickard, who was presenting a well-planned strategy, made the Crown Prince wonder. Why would he be so invested in dethroning Aerys? Lord Stark was many things, ambitious was not one of them. He could not think what the North stood to gain besides an ally in the South. 

“The last two Houses you would have to sec-”

“What would it take for the North to commit? I apologize for interrupting. It is just that you are leading this talk, but you say ‘if the North joins.” The Silver Prince asked.

The man sitting across from him gazed back. Surprisingly, his face broke into a smile. Rhaegar’s brow shot up. 

“I apologize, Your Grace. It is just I am not sure if I should be leading this talk with you myself.” Gauging his Prince’s quizzical expression he explained further that it was not his idea to be here but the idea of the other lords.

“I have the trust and respect of Lord Arryn and Baratheon. Houses like the Lannisters and the Tyrells see me as a foolish Northerner who lacks Southorn ambition.” He paused for a moment. “They are correct about the latter at least and maybe I am foolish. I simply have no interest in vying for power. That is why I am here. They trust me to negotiate without backstabbing and are able to walk away with clean hands if the King were to find out of these talks.”

Previously he had his gaze locked to the ground, but he lifted his eyes slowly when Lord Rickard finished his piece. “You haven’t answered why the North would join.”

“The North will join because I know your father is mad, and I pray that you are not,” was the simple reply he received.

Honesty, Rhaegar thought, was such a rare quality to find in a lord. Still the lord’s answer was like a knife to the Prince’s pride. It was whispered that every time a Targaryen was born the gods tossed a coin in the air and the world held its breath to see how it will land: great or mad. When he was small he remembered servants curiously watching to see if his childhood tantrums were symptoms of madness. It was a legacy he wished to erase. He only needed the opportunity.

With a small sigh, Rhaegar had only one thing left to ask, “What about the other Houses?”

“The Greyjoys will not be a threat either way. They still sulk in the Iron Islands. The Tullys are the most hesitant to join your cause. Hoster is not for decisive action until he knows who will come out victorious. That is why they are not here today. They do not want to be accused of treason. It should no longer be a problem once Catelyn and Brandon are married. At that point they are tied to House Stark. The King will see any infraction by the North as an equal infraction by the Riverlands. This will force Hoster to action.” 

Mentally Rhaegar ticked through the Great Houses: Greyjoy, Stark, Arryn, Lannister, Tully, Martell, Tyrell. The only House left was-. Oh no, Rhaegar groaned mentally. “That only leaves Lord Baratheon.” Long fingers dragged through his hair as he breathed out a heavy sigh. Dear cousin, he thought, what will you demand this time? 

Robert Baratheon had a tendency to write to the Crown when Stormlands was fiscally strained. He implored his status as kin as deserving of special treatment. Jon Connington, Hand of the King, had begged for the Crown to write back that if he would not spend his money on whores, wine, and gambling maybe he would not have to ask for loans. He never got his way though. Gold dragons were always sent as a matter of “diplomacy”. 

“I thought you said that Lord Baratheon trusted you, why would he not simply trust you in this?” Rhaegar inquired. He held a faint hope that Rickard had enough of a friendship with Robert that he would follow the man blindly.

Lord Stark crossed his fingers as he leaned back in his seat. “He trusts me enough to talk to you. He, however, is bull headed as I am sure you know. As of now he is not tied to any other house besides the House Targaryen. Yes, he is close to Jon Arryn which aids in our effort. Yet he needs a more substantial tie, one that could cajole him to action like the Tullys…..He needs a wife.”

The words hung in the air for a moment. “Who do you have in mind?” The moment the question left his mouth he knew the answer. Almond shaped, grey eyes flashed into his head. “Your daughter,” he breathed.

The man sitting across from him only nodded.


	3. Ladies and Warrior Queens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna learns of her betrothal, and she speaks to the prince for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I have been updating rather quickly. I'm afraid I won't be able to sustain this pace since school is about to start again. But I will try to update at least weekly!

The words kept ringing in her mind. Betrothed. Lord Baratheon. After Brandon’s wedding. Her father delivered the news hours ago. He called her into his study like he did when she was young. Being already six and teen she had developed the childish notion that she had escaped marriage. 

Her moon’s blood had come for four years, and her father never spoke to her of betrothal. To be told that she was to marry a man she had only three dinner conversations so soon, two days after her brother’s wedding, caused her to panic. 

Like a deer being chased through the woods by hunters she tried to dodge the deathblow. Pleas to reconsider fell upon deaf ears. Her lord father refused to engage with her. To convince him not to carry through with the plan was as impossible as convincing the Dothraki to cross the Narrow Sea. 

After what seemed like an eternity begging for her freedom she returned to chambers enraged. She threw whatever object she could lay a hand on. Sobs tore out from her. 

Tears streamed her face and blinded her vision. Her chest heaved as beat against her closed door as if bloodying her hands would cause Robert Baratheon to end their betrothal. 

Every kind thought she had about him was poisoned. No longer was he a chatty dinner companion, but her lord, her husband to be. The man who would take her from her family, take away her freedom, and who would be the living reminder her only duty in life was to bear him sons. 

'Lyanna, don't be so ungrateful,' she thought sardonically. She was such a lucky girl. To become the Lady of Storm’s End was a great honor. To find a husband so handsome and wealthy was all any proper girl should dream of. Well, she thought angrily, those girls are silly twits. 

In her rage she heaved her brush at her mirror. There is an awful shatter as glass fell to the stone floor. At that moment Lyanna’s own body crumbled to the floor as well. Fists bruised, cheeks puffy, face red, she wondered if there was ever another option. Had being bartered and breed like livestock always been the only outcome possible for her?

Her body felt weak from her emotional catharsis. All she wanted was rest. Slowly, she picked herself up and made her way to her bed. Almost as soon as her head laid on the pillow she fell from consciousness. Before she could fully escape she remembered the glass on the floor. I should clean it, she thought. It was wrong not to. 

 

***************************

The early chirps of birds saturated the morning air. Lyanna walked quietly through the training grounds set up behind the castle. She had woken when outside was still dark. Her hands were sore from the night before, but that did not stop her from venturing to the training grounds.

Dawn was just breaking. She did not believe she would come across any men training this early. Many were still sleeping off the Dornish wine that poured freely during last night’s festivities. 

It seemed as if the entire realm was currently residing within the walls of Winterfell. It was entirely unnecessary, Lyanna thought bitterly. Why would they celebrate over something so trivial as a union of two houses? 

In honor of the small amount of freedom she had left, she decided to take to the dueling ring. Lord Baratheon would not find it proper for a wife to practice swordplay. He would prefer she occupy her time stitching his pants, entertaining guests, or warming his bed. Her blood boiled at the perspective.

She had promised her father that she would not approach the training grounds during the festivities as to not raise questions from the other Houses, but seeing as this was her last opportunity she did not see why she owed him the respect of keeping her word. 

Some part of her knew it was wrong to be angry with her father. Of course he was going to marry her off, yet that knowledge did nothing to tame the fire raging inside.

Her and Benjen spent much of their time sparring with practice swords. They would follow Brandon around when they were younger as he took lessons. Ser Rodrik Cassel tolerated their presence as they got under foot. Several years ago, the Master of Arms began training Benjen. Every able body lord should know his way around a sword, they were told. 

When she implored why she could not also learn beside her brother she was told because it was improper. Everything was always so improper, she thought bitterly.  
That is when Benjen began to teach her privately. After each day’s training session with Ser Rodrik he would relay all the lessons he was taught. 

Eventually the two were discovered, but Lyanna had learned so much and had already been avoiding her needle working lessons, an exasperated Rickard Stark allowed for her to continue learning. 

As she approached the ring she heard the clashing of swords. She cursed whoever had beaten her to the grounds. This time was meant to be hers! It was supposed to be her time of solace! She was not leaving until she looked upon the faces of the men who robbed her of it.

The thieves were none other than the Crown Prince and Barristan Selmy. 

Their swords crashed together as they circled in a measured, time old, dance. Ser Barristan lunged at the Prince who deflected the attack with grace. With that opening he grabbed the knight’s hand, pulled him close, and pointed his sword into the man’s gut.

Lyanna was not within earshot to hear what they said when they relaxed from their previous position. She observed the prince smile as he shook his knight’s hand. 

What a smug arse he must be. He was raised wanting for nothing, free from responsibility. She knew how the sons of rich lords and kings lived, always playing.

Ser Barristan probably let him win, she thought. He did probably not wish to anger the poor prince. 

Maids and lords fell all the same to please him. All the young women in the castle were a flutter before his arrival. As if he would lend an eye their way. Why they would want that was beyond her. 

To gain the favor of any member of the royal was a fate worse than death. At best she would a consort since he was already wed. She would be there only to serve his pleasures, never allowed to speak until he asked her to, never allowed to leave until he dismissed her. What a wretched existence, she thought. 

Just as she was about to make her way to her chambers to clean up the Prince’s head turned in her direction. He cocked it to the side, a curious look on his face. 

“Lady Lyanna, I’m surprised to see you here this early. Well here in general actually.” There was a laughter in his voice. Oh how she would not stand to be mocked.

“I normally come here during the morn, Your Grace. I must say it is I who am shocked to see you here,” she responded coolly. He would not have the satisfaction of scaring her off. 

What a strange girl, Rhaegar thought to himself. It was clear that she had come with intention of sparring. She was in riding breeches with a sword on her hip. Does her betrothed know of her hobby? He wondered. Why does it matter if he does? He countered. 

There was a fire in her gray eyes, the prince noted. Her mouth was set in a stern way that told him she was not too happy of finding him there. Rhaegar looked over to Ser Barristan who stood several feet away. The knight shrugged as if to say that it bothered him not if they left.

“Well we apologize for the inconvenience we posed to you and thank you for your patience.” He called to her diplomatically. The pair of men gathered their few things and began to walk away towards the castle. As they almost reached inside, Rhaegar turned his head back. 

The young girl had made her way into the training circle. He could see her moving slowly through different techniques. Her body bent with ease as she rehearsed defensive blocks. 

“Ser Barristan, I believe I’ll continue to practice,” before the knight had the opportunity to protest Rhaegar held up his hand, “And I do not require you to stay. Go eat, clean up. I will come back in soon.”

The prince turned to make his way back to the Stark girl. As he got closer he could see that she deliberately ignoring him, refusing to acknowledge his approach. 

Eventually, when he was standing only several yards away, she gave up.  
“Is there something you forget, Your Grace?” Her voice was laced with mild annoyance. 

“No, I simply wished to offer you a sparing partner.” He made his way into the circle and drew his sword off his waist.

Lyanna looked at him incredulous. “Um,” she stammered for a moment. “May I ask why?”

Rhaegar shrugged as he assumed his stance in front of her. For a second he thought she would walk out of the ring, but after several moments she took her own stance. 

They began to circle as he and Barristan had earlier. He reached out to test her. Impressively, she did not startle. Her eyes stayed carefully trained on him.

After several minutes of just observing one another, Rhaegar relaxed his stance slightly. He flashed his eyes to the side, following the sound of a bird’s chirp. 

It was in that moment she lunged at him. Effortlessly, he stepped away from her reach. He grabbed and held out her arm as he pulled her body against his. His sword rested against her throat. They stood there for a moment, breathing. 

Lyanna jerked herself away from the prince’s grip. A scowl graced her face as he looked at her. He was distracted and he still bested her, she screamed internally. He took his eyes off of her as if to say she did not matter. How dare he!

He decided to break the stony silence. “Your form is good. You just lack patience, finesse.” At this she was barely able to hold in a scoff. 

“The way you lunged was as if you were trying to hack at me with an ax,” He continued.

“Perhaps I was,” she retorted. She knew better than to speak so brashly to the prince, but it also felt almost cathartic.

Rhaegar took a step back for a moment, gazing at her. Why is she acting so hostile? She could not even pretend to hide her disdain. “Have I done something to earn your ire, my lady?”

The question caused much of the rage to leave her. No, he did nothing. Not really. He was simply there. It is not his fault he was born a prince. It was not his fault she was to marry Robert Baratheon. 

Guilt crept into her stomach. She had been rude, and the one thing she hated more than being wrong was apologizing for it.

“I apologize, Your Grace,” she choked out. “You have done nothing wrong. It is just I have been in a foul mood and I took it out on you.” There was nothing more she wanted than to wash her mouth out with soap. The apology was like acid on her tongue.

“Is it your betrothal that is bothering, my lady?” The question just popped out. Rhaegar knew he shouldn’t have asked. It was not his place, but he felt an inexplicable urge to know her thoughts. 

Lyanna’s eyes flashed up. Her stance had quickly tensed and she looked at him with suspicion. “How do you know about my betrothal?” She had only discovered it herself the night previous. 

Clearing his throat Rhaegar started, “I met with your father yesterday. He mentioned it.” That was all technically true. Though, it did not make him feel any better. He felt as if he was the reason for the union. 

That of was ridiculous, he told himself. She is six and teen. She was to be married soon with or without his plan. Lord Stark would not have allowed for his daughter to be anything besides a wife. 

Even if the man claimed to have no Southron ambitions he had to secure the safety of his house. An alliance through marriage was the way that was done. 

His answer seemed to satisfy her. Of course Father would tell the prince. It was normal to notify the heads of the Great Houses when forming new alliances. A heavy sigh left her as she sat down on a stray bale of hay. 

Her shoulders ached as if they had been carrying some heavy weight. She was not sure if she wanted to talk to the prince, but he had easily accepted the idea of her practicing swordplay. That must have meant he was not completely awful. 

“I do not wish to be married,” she started quietly. 

This should have surprised Rhaegar. Most maidens dream only of their wedding day. Yet Lyanna Stark did not seem like other maidens, he thought with a smile. 

“Do you take some issue with Lord Baratheon, my lady? It would appear to most that you are quite fortunate with your match.” He tried to make the inquiry seem casual, for he did not want to seem like he was prying even though he was. 

The prince moved himself so that he was too sitting on the bale, though he kept some distance between Lady Lyanna’s body and his own.

Lyanna paused for a moment. Slowly, her head turned to see the Silver Prince. She knew what he was thinking, what a silly, stupid girl. It was her duty to marry for her family, so why was she surprised to be betrothed? She should thank the gods for giving her a handsome lord husband. 

Gently, she shook her head. “No,” she began. “He has done nothing wrong, except for be the man who stole my freedom.” Her voice cracked slightly as she spoke. She had already spilled enough tears over the situation. She refused to cry again, especially in front of the prince. 

“This world is difficult for a woman,” he said almost as a whisper. Lyanna’s jaw nearly dropped at his comment. He must have gauged her startled reaction despite not looking at her because he let out a dry chuckle.

“Wives especially,” he continued. “They are always subjected to their husband’s will. Marriage confines them infinitely more than it confines any husband. Their success is derived from how many sons they can bear. And while they raise children and entertain guests the husband can hunt, whore, travel, and drink freely.” As he spoke, his mind flashed to his mother, Rhaella. 

He had always been close to his mother. She insisted on raising him more than any septa or servant. She was a key figure in many of his young memories. The two were also quite similar. Both were quiet, thoughtful, fond of reading and music. 

Some of the happiest moments of his childhood were because of his mother, yet so were some of the saddest. 

The screams and pleas that would echo through the halls whenever his father visited her chamber still haunted him. Such occurrences were rare now. With three children, Aerys finally felt satisfied that his sister wife had performed her duty adequately. But Rhaegar remembers vividly being a young boy and imploring his father to stop hurting mother. 

He beat his small fists against the door, against the Kingsguard who stood guard. They stood silent like the statues in the Great Sept of Baelor when he yelled that they it was their task to protect her. Looking back on it now, Rhaegar knew what they were thinking. It was their job to protect her, yes, but not from him. 

He received a slap for his disrespect when his father emerged from her quarters, and a warning that if he ever interfered again his mother would suffer even more. Years had past since that day. No one ever spoke about it again. 

Lyanna heard deep sadness in his rich voice. He looked as if his mind was far away from the training grounds of Winterfell. Strands of silver hair hung in front of his face. Most of it was tucked in a bunch on his head, to keep away from his eyes during the duels. 

As she continued to stare him in silence, she thought of dragons. “The only respectable occupations today for a women is a wife or a septa,” she said. At this she saw the prince nodded slightly.

“However, it used to be different. Centuries ago women could be dragon riders.” There was a wistfulness that filled her tone. When she was young she demanded to be told stories of Visenya and Rhaenys. Dreams of dragon riding and warrior queens filled her head. 

As a small girl she would pretend that she would ride direwolves into battle because it would be preposterous to for a Stark to actually ride a dragon. She would disturb all the servants with her antics. 

Rhaegar saw her face turn bright with her happy dreams. “But dragons and warrior queens died out long ago,” he said. “And your duty is alive and well.” Guilt flooded him when he saw her face fall as reality extinguished her imagination.

I should not have spoken up, he thought. She deserved some shred of hope before she be subjected to hell. What he was going to do next he knew to be improper, but he felt the need to bring a smile back to her pretty lips.

“Until then though,” he began, “we could continue with sword play. My lady should reap whatever freedom she has left.”

In that moment Lyanna gave him a thankful smile. Perhaps she had been too harsh in judging him. “I would like that very much, Your Grace. How does tomorrow morning sound?” 

While she knew it was only a temporary remedy for her sadness she would take whatever he offered. The Silver Prince agreed to their next session. As they both rose to make their way to the castle, Lyanna remembered one last thing.

“Your Grace, I would also ask you to not call me a lady. As we both know that to be untrue.”


	4. Fantasies vs Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaegar thinks about Lyanna and his wife. Elia tries to comfort Ashara. Robert and Lyanna go riding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I am not sure about this chapter. It serves to be the stepping stone in the story, but for some reason I am less than satisfied with. I'm not really sure why because the content is what I want. I'm just not sure if I communicated it well. 
> 
> After multiple edits though I figured I'll get it over with so I can move onto the next chapter which I am VERY excited about. 
> 
> All comments and criticisms are welcome!

The date of Brandon’s wedding marched closer and closer. Three more days, Rhaegar thought, and then two more until Lyanna’s. Lyanna, he thought. What a strange creature. She was headstrong and sharp witted with an equally sharp tongue, never fearing to speak her mind. 

Every day that passed the prince wondered more and more if people that as she did, but simply kept their thoughts to themselves. Never had he encountered anyone who thought so freely, who expected so much more from life. 

He smiled when he thought about their conversation that morning. Her and her younger brother, Benjen, had had plans to join the Night’s Watch, to serve on the Wall, and to fight a ban of evil creatures that scared even the Free Folk. 

The image suited her well, if that was what it was truly like on the Wall. From the stories he heard the grandeur days of the Night’s Watch had long passed.

Now all that stood protecting the realm from the beyond were rapists, murderers, and thieves. He had not the heart though to correct her fantasy.

Since their initial sparring session they had met every morning as dawn broke. For the first while they would spar. She proved to be a fast learner. He had shown her techniques that would better suit some one of her statute.

Rhaegar explained that she could not attack in the same way her brother Brandon would because she does not the same levels of strength. But she did have speed and grace that could be capitalized on. 

They spent close to an hour clashing swords and exchanging blows. By the time they finished they were covered in a thin layer of sweat, breathing heavily, and blood racing. 

When they took time to rest they spoke of all subjects: history, music, books, family, battle. It surprised him that she enjoyed the arts. He assumed that she would have fought with her septa during every lesson.

His assumption proved correct when he asked. Any material her septa found appropriate, she found boring. But independently she came across stories and music she enjoyed on her.

Lyanna had this quality of if she admired something, it did matter why or what, she would love it dearly. If something displeased her she would despise with every fiber of being. 

Of all the words Rhaegar could choose to describe her, indecisive would never be one. Passion was apparent in her voice whenever she spoke of something she loved, especially her family.

He admired how close she was to her brothers, how much she loved them, and how she was willing to defend them from any criticism. 

It was a feeling he was unable to empathize with. While he loved Viserys and Daenerys very much they were both so much younger then he. They were never his confidants or partners in crime. He had always felt more of a fath-.

There was a knock on the door, pulling him from his thoughts, signaling to him that the servants had just finished drawing his bath. He walked towards the tub set in the floor, mindlessly disrobing. 

Clouds of steam billowed up from the water. As he lowered himself down a sigh of satisfaction escaped him. All the aching knots in his shoulders and back began to dull. Stress knots, he thought to himself. While Lyanna occupied his mornings, the lords occupied his afternoons. 

He spent hours soothing nerves and negotiating deals. Each lord acted as if he had to be convinced of dethroning the Mad King. And when they said they would support his reign, but were still uncertain about the future Rhaegar was forced to craft promises of fortune until they were satisfied. 

Snakes, the lot of them, he thought. He was not even king yet and he already had council assembled. The prince did not relish in these political games, how could they not realize they were all in danger as long as Aerys sat on the throne? 

“Rhaegar, my darling,” a sweet voice called from the hall. Elia. 

There had not been much time spent with his wife since arriving to Winterfell, he thought. Some part of him felt shame for leaving her by herself. 

So much of his time was divided between the training grounds, rooms with closed doors, or wedding festivities he had just forgotten to make time for her. 

“Come in,” he yelled. The door opened slightly enough for her slender frame to pass through. She was wearing an olive toned dress with gold bangles that complimented her copper skin beautifully.

She was also wearing a small smile as she laid her eyes upon her husband. Gracefully she made her way to him. “I have missed, darling.”

“As I have missed you,” Rhaegar returned. It was true, he had. Elia was always a warm and welcoming wife. The gods had truly blessed him. 

She was kind, compassionate, and a wonderful mother. Never was she prone to anger or outburst. Rhaegar did not believe she had it in her to play conniving games, for that he was thankful. 

“How have your meetings been going?” She inquired. Rhaegar had not told her the true nature of the meetings, for he feared that knowing would put her in danger. 

“Fine, typical. The lords want and the Crown provides,” it is hard for him to keep the bitterness out of his voice. 

Elia lets out a sympathetic sound in his ear, “It saddens me to see you so. Perhaps tonight after the feast I could help distract you from all the noise.” The comment came out innocently enough, but as she kneeled behind him, drawing her nails lazily over his exposed chest he knew the promise of such words.

Rhaegar took her hand in his and laid a gentle kiss on her palm. “I’ll visit your chambers tonight, then.” He promised. With a satisfied grin Elia removed herself from the ground. 

“I look forward to it, Your Grace,” she purrs before walking out of the room. Her skirts billow out behind as she sauntered away.

As Rhaegar again sat alone in silence he wondered why his wife’s invitation did not cause him the same excitement as earlier invitations had. 

He knew why, he thought mockingly. It was because every time he closed his eyes he saw stormy, gray eyes staring back. When they sparred he often imagined pulling her close and snatching her mouth with his. 

Rhaegar wondered what she tasted like, what sort of noises she would make as he kissed her neck.

Such thoughts were dangerous. He silently reprimanded himself. Nothing good could come of them. To take her would be a dishonor to both her and his wife. 

Lyanna did not deserve to be mislead nor did Elia deserve to be disrespected so. Yet even as he told himself that he knew the Stark girl would visit him in his dreams.

Every morning when he woke he considered not meeting her at the training grounds. _Put distance between the two of you,_ he would think. _Let her hate him for not showing._

Yet every time he would get dressed and walk out his chambers, because foolishly he would say that nothing would ever come out of it. 

*****************************

Upon leaving her husband’s chambers a triumphant Elia traveled down the cold, stone hall. She was so lucky, she thought. A giggle bubbled inside as she recalled how beautiful her husband looked in the bath.

His broad shoulders covered in water drop lets as his hair was pushed back from his face made her knees weak. After several years of marriage Rhaegar was still so kind, so loving, and so loyal to her. 

She had heard many terrible tales of sweet men being violent and harsh towards their wives, so she was grateful that the gods had smiled down on her. 

As Elia entered her chambers the echoes of a terrible retching sound carried through the room. 

Oh no, she thought. All of the girlish flutters she had been previously feeling evaporated instantly. Rushing to the bath area she found her friend bent over a pot.

Ashara looked pitiful. Her normally brilliant raven hair was limp and lifeless. Her skin was an awful yellow, greenish color. The pregnancy was not sitting easy with her. Elia called for a servant to fetch water for the lady. 

As the young girl scurried off, the princess bent down, rubbing the back of her friend as her own mother had when she was a little. 

The sick woman let out a small moan. For the last several weeks she had trouble eating most every food. Even delicate blood oranges caused her stomach havoc. 

“Sshh, this will pass. Typically the nausea does not last past three or four months into the pregnancy.” Elia said. It was meant to be a comfort, but Lady Dayne only let out another groan at prospect of another month.

When the servant came back with water, the two sat quietly as Ashara drank. Elia had not thought it wise that she travel to the North with them for the wedding. 

Not because of the journey, but because to see the father of your child be married to another would not be easy. The stress was probably exacerbating the symptoms of pregnancy. 

Ashara had insisted on coming, however, despite her friend’s concern. It would be unfair not to tell him of the child she reasoned. Elia tried to explain that this was not Dorne. They were not as accepting of bastards in the Seven Kingdoms. 

But as the strong willed woman she prided herself on being, Ashara refused to listen. She did not expect Brandon break his betrothal, marry her and provide a life for her and their child. Many people had called her many things during her life, but naïve was never one. 

The two had met in Kingslanding during the celebration of Princess Daenerys’ birth several months past. Brandon Stark was a charming man with a disarming smile. After several dances and more than a few cups of wine later the two ended up in her bed. 

They kept seeing each other during the extent of his visit. Much of their time together was spent under her silk sheets, whispering sweet nothings to each other. 

He joked about returning to Dorne with her and becoming a sell sword. He spoke of how he got lost in her violet eyes. 

Eventually though, he found his way out easily enough. 

Once the festival was over he returned to Winterfell where he was heir. It was not until he was gone she found out about Catelyn Tully. She could not say whether that would have changed her lying with him or not, but it would have at least given her pause. 

And after she discovered the Tully girl she discovered she was with child. She had written to him that she wanted to speak. He never returned a letter. It was not her intention to ask for money or favor. All she wanted was for the chance for her child to have a father. 

Upon arriving to Winterfell she paid a boy to deliver a note to Lord Brandon, asking to meet. That time she received a reply. So you’ll respond when trapped, she thought scathingly. 

They were meant to meet tonight after the feast. Her stomach tightened with every reminder. As the time ticked by her nerves grew more and more. She was not expecting him to be excited by news, but deep inside existed a little hope she had tried to smother that he would be thrilled. 

*******************************

Lyanna was surprised at Lord Baratheon’s invitation to go riding together. Not one to turn down an opportunity to escape the castle walls, she agreed. 

They were trotting easily through the woods as Robert spoke of hunting. His hardy laugh bellowed out from his large frame as he lively recounted stories. It was his easygoing nature that reminded Lyanna of why she appreciated his presence at dinner.

All of the anger she had felt towards him had mostly dissipated. It was unfair to hate him simply because he was also doing his duty. She had resented Rhaegar before truly knowing him, and she proved to be very wrong about the prince.

His name still felt strange on her tongue. He had insisted her calling him by his name if he had to call her by hers. Lyanna tried to protest that it was improper. 

The prince just laughed and teasingly asked her when had she ever cared about propriety before. 

It was strange to see him smile. Normally he looked so serious. Whenever she saw him talking with a lord or sitting at head table during the feasts his face was stern. 

Rarely did they interact outside of the training grounds. It was not as if they ignored each other. They were cordial if ever they were close enough to interact. 

But neither referenced how well they knew each other. Their time in the yard was private and both preferred it that way. 

Even sometimes during their morning spars when they spoke his full lips would be turned in a slight frown. There were moments though, all of the sudden when a grin burst across his face. 

Times like those made her heart flutter, and she hated him for it. Thoughts of him began to occupy her thoughts even when they were apart. During the past few days she felt as if she was walking around in a half dream like state where part of her was always entertaining the idea of him. 

It was most powerful when she could see him, feel his presence but could do nothing except act as if she paid him little mind. The latest instance was the night previous when after dinner the hall cajoled him into playing for them.

In their talks he mentioned in passing he played the harp, but it seemed like an understatement in that moment. Long slender fingers pulled delicately at thin cords. His rich voice carried through the room as he sang a sad song about two lovers. 

With every sweet note that sounded a young maiden fell under the prince’s spell, Lyanna included. 

During much of the performance his purple eyes stayed close, yet one or twice when he turned his head to gaze around the hall they locked stares for only a second. There was such intensity in his gaze she felt shivers run along her spine. 

While she continued to listen she shut her eyes as well and imagined that those fingers were running through her hair, over her pale skin. Heat seemed to radiate off her as a strange ache gnawed in her lower abdomen. The desire raging inside her was a foreign sensation. 

When she was a ten and two she shared a kiss with the cook’s son because she thought he was cute. Since then she thought men like Robert Baratheon were handsome. But never had she felt a burning sensation to be touched by a man. 

It was terribly foolish of her to desire the prince. Rhaegar treated her as a sister. He never put a hand on her outside of sparring sessions. Never had a lewd comment or flirtation fallen from his lips as they had from previous men who desired her.

The passion was entirely one sided, Lyanna knew that.

Even if it was not, he was married. He was a prince. There was nothing he could offer that she wanted. Whatever feelings he brought out of her would just be ignored unti-.

“My lady,” Robert’s voice interrupted her thoughts. He rode his horse close to her so that they were a mere arms length apart. Determination was evident on his brow, his mouth set as if he were a man on a mission. 

“Um,” he stuttered for a moment. Lyanna gave him a curious look. This was the first moment she had seen him at a loss for words. He took in a deep breath before beginning again. “I wanted to tell you, my lady, that I am honored that you have agreed to be my wife.”

Lyanna had to cover a snort with a cough as he said that. Apparently Lord Baratheon was not aware she was not given much choice in the matter. 

Softly he continued, “You are a beautiful young woman, Lya. Being around you makes me incredibly nervous which I can say I am not accustomed to.” 

The girl smiled, hoping it appeared demure, knowing that seeming open to the idea of their union made it easier on both of them. 

“Thank you for your words, my lord. I consider our betrothal to be blessing from the gods.” Lyanna congratulated herself silently. While it was difficult at times she could prove to have some semblances of being a lady. 

Robert nods, seeming to gain courage. Both her brothers, Eddard and Brandon, had told him stories of this wild wolf. To her, the idea of marriage was a forfeiture of her freedom. If he wanted their union to prosper he would have to be patient. She needed to acclimate herself to the idea of being a wife.

The lord was trying to give her that opportunity. “I understand that it will be difficult for you to leave your family. Ned tells me you all are close. But I promise that I will protect you and our sons. You will never need to fret. There everything you desire I shall provide. And all I need from you is to listen. You must trust that I know what is best for us.” At the end of declaration Lyanna was speechless. 

Red flashed before her. Rage seized her body in a vice grip. Her knuckles turned bone white as her fingers tightened around her horse’s reins, trying to control her tongue that wanted nothing more than to lash him. 

How dare he say that I must listen in order to secure my happiness! I do not need a protector! I do not need a provider! He speaks as if understands who I am, yet he knows nothing!

It seemed like an eternity before the anger subsided. But when it did a dread crept its way into her stomach. In that moment it dawned on her she was facing the rest of her life.

Deep blue eyes bored into hers earnestly as awaited her response. To him, the speech was not only reasonable, but also exceedingly kind. He was outlining exactly what their union was to be.

It was an arrangement that would surely suffocate her.


	5. An Alliance Saved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna discovers something about Robert. The Starks meet with Ashara Dayne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you all enjoy how this chapter plays out. This story arc is something I'm fairly proud of and am super excited to share. I know some of you are waiting for Rhaegar and Lyanna to meet again. Next chapter, I promise!
> 
> Please feel free to comment about the story, my writing style, anything really. Feedback is super nice :)

Catelyn Tully, at five and ten, was a beautiful girl. Her auburn hair formed waves down her back. The simple, yet well-cut dress she wore complimented the blue eyes of her family. On the outside she was serene, ready to be married.

Only Lyanna had spoken to her, and on the inside she felt as if she would fall ill at any moment. The two ladies had never been close, but the Stark girl had an idea of what the other was experiencing. As someone who was exceptionally close with Brandon, she supposed she would be able to help calm the next Lady of Winterfell’s nerves. Also focusing on her brother’s wedding proved to be a distraction from her own.

Ever since Robert’s declaration during their ride several hours past a thought that started as a small seed had been growing. Why not simply run away?

She could board a ship headed towards Dorne or towards Essos and the Free Cities. There she would be able to find work. It was not as if she had to amass a fortune, just enough for some food, a shelter. 

She would leave behind all of her dresses, trinkets, all of the unnecessary rules and expectations. _Run away from it all,_ she thought. _Because if you are dragged to Storm’s End you will never be the same._

But if she left, she could never come back. She knew that. Her family would remain here in the North. To run would be to sacrifice every happy memory they could ever have. Never again would she see Brandon joust, or hear Ned’s reprimands, or spar with Benjen in the yard or hear her father tell stories of the First Men. 

A well of tears began to collect in the corners of her eyes at the mere thought. The pain it caused forced her to put the fantasy to rest for the moment.

Her attention turned back to the young woman inspecting herself in front of the mirror. There was another feast tonight, but this one would be different. It would be the first with the Tully party present. 

As Catelyn smoothed non-existent creases from her dress Lyanna looked around the room. She saw the entirety of the Tully girl’s life stored in trunks. Almost as soon as she moves in I am moved out, she thought. 

A pang struck her heart with envy. How lucky this girl is, she sardonically, and she had no idea. Everyone in Winterfell would treat her with warm embraces. Where Lyanna was going to be shipped off to an empty castle with just her lord husband.

“Lyanna,” Catelyn called to her, finally pulling herself away from the reflection and Lyanna from nasty thoughts. The younger girl was biting her lip anxiously, trying to control her breathing. Her shoulders shook slightly as she lifted her gaze to meet her soon to be sister’s. 

“I was hoping to ask you a question,” she began with a stutter. “Uh, I un-understand that it may put you in a difficult situation, s-so pl-please feel free not to answer.” 

With peaked interest, Lyanna encouraged Catelyn to speak her mind.

The poor girl was trembling like a leaf in the wind. After several minutes of shifting her gaze from the ground to the Stark girl she finally spoke.

“Do you believe your brother will be a kind husband. I know that his eye may wonder, but is he easy to anger?” The words came out so softly she barely heard them.

Lyanna’s brows shot up in surprise. Catelyn had never been so forward. Not once had she inquired about Brandon’s competency as a husband. 

“It is not as if I am questioning our marriage. I would never.” She continued as trying to mend ties she had undone. 

“It is only that there have been whispers of how he flirts with many. I know I should do better than to give attention to servants’ gossip. His nature is to be friendly, perhaps at times overtly so. Truly, I believe I can make peace with this, so long as he is kind.” Her voice trailed off in a stammer. 

Lyanna needed a moment to digest her concerns. Catelyn was willing to enter a marriage union where her husband disrespected her, so long as he did not beat her? What choice did she have? Lyanna thought. Her entire worth was derived from her husband. 

She wondered what whispers the Tully girl had heard. Lyanna was not dumb. All of the Starks were aware of Brandon’s….flirtations. But from the way she spoke it was if she believed them only to be words he exchanged with pretty girls.

If that is where she thought it ended, the girl was naïve as she was pretty. But something gave Lyanna pause.

Would he really shame his wife by allowing another to warm his bed even after their marriage? In hindsight the realization was not hard to come to.

Yes, yes he would, because he would not be thinking of her when he did it

Of all her siblings, she identified most with Brandon. Both had wolf blood coursing through their veins their father complained. They were wild, unruly, and too stubborn for their own good.  
That might have been the reason why she knew how he would act.

Best not to tell her the extent to which Brandon’s eyes wander. It would be cruel to torture the poor girl before her wedding. What could she do with that information besides ache over it? 

“My brother,” she began slowly, “is kind man, as I am sure you are.” During the several occasions when he and his betrothed meet he had be a maiden’s dream; charming, friendly, and romantic. She remembered clearly how Catelyn Tully blushing and twitting like a bird when Brandon whispered in her ear.

The man still had his vices though. Lyanna could not and would not deny that. At times he drank too much wine, he was cocky, his eyes wandered, but he never would raise a hand to a woman. He would not take what she was not willing to give.

In that she was confident, and in that she saw some redemption. 

“Truly Catelyn, I do not believe you have to fear about him being mean. I have never known my brother to be violent towards ladies.” The certainty in her voice visibly put Catelyn at ease.

A smile replaced the frown that had previously been resting on her pretty face. With a lightness in her step she turned back to the mirror, pinching her cheeks and smoothing her hair. 

It was the second time Lyanna felt envious of her. Why could it not be that easy for her? Why did she fight the notion of marriage so violently? Why could she simply be excited about a prosperous union? Why could all of her worries not be readily eased by assurance?

“You know, I really do admire you, Lyanna.” Catelyn voiced absently mindedly. Her body was still turned facing her reflection.

Why on earth would she, the Stark girl thought confused. I have nothing she does not also have: a handsome, first son for a betrothed and a wedding days away. 

“Really, it is true. I do not believe I could be a strong as you have proven to be. I know Brandon flirts and that already frays my nerves. It may seem incorrect of me, but if he already had two bastards in the Vale I would positively be a mess.” She did not say it to be scathing, not like other ladies would have. 

Though there was admiration and respect in her voice her words burned like acid.

Two bastards in the Vale? At that moment Rhaegar’s voice sounded in her head. While she raises children and entertain guests Robert can hunt, whore, travel, and drink freely. And whore he already has.

At that moment Lyanna felt outside her own body. Never had she paid any mind to how Lord Baratheon acted during his time as Jon Arryn’s ward. How could sheltered Catelyn Tully have known these rumors before herself?

Hypocrisy bubbled inside. Robert’s affairs bothered her while she lied about Brandon’s and found redemption in the fact he did not beat women. She loved her brother dearly. His faults never affected his love for her. Her husband’s faults, on the other hand, were a slap in the face. 

Bile rose in her throat at the thought. The sick scent rose into her nose when she realized her place in Robert’s world. Her presence was only necessary in Storm’s End to produce heirs She tried to calm herself through measured breathing, yet it did little to help. 

Nails left crescent shaped scars on her palms. As the sickness subsided, resentment and most importantly determination took hold. I shall not, she thought defiantly. I shall let myself become some man’s broodmare. 

******************************

The evening was like every other night previous. Food. Wine. Music. Lord Rickard Stark was unable to fathom how the Southron lords and ladies were not tired. His old bones ached for rest. Only a few days more left. The thought gave him solace. 

Flickering flames caused shadows to dance through the hall. The hall was so still in that moment the lord almost forgot that all of the beds in Winterfell were occupied. His quiet footsteps were the only sound that interrupted the serenity. 

Most every guest had already retired to their rooms. He had been traveling towards his own when his son, Brandon, requested a meeting with his father. When Rickard tried to move it to the morning Brandon shook his head violently. We must speak. Now, he said. 

The Warden of the North decided it was not worth the argument. Most likely Brandon had some concern about the union. It was a reasonable worry, though perhaps not reasonable enough to keep his old father from resting.

His nerves were already frayed after almost a week of celebration and political bargaining. Without sleep, how could he make it through two weddings? Two. The weathered man let out a sigh. Lyanna had barely spoken to him since he relayed the news of her betrothal. 

Remembering the hurt and resentment on her face still wounded him. Of course, he meant to marry her off eventually. She had acted as if it was ludicrous to expect her to marry because she already had plans of growing into an old maid there in Winterfell

Despite that, he could have given her more time to adjust. He did not have to marry her off so quickly. A feeling inside told him though that no amount of time would allow for her to grow accustomed to the idea. 

Lord Stark had a special place in his heart for his daughter. His only girl, he thought fondly, even if she refused act like a proper girl most of her days. Her desire for freedom was a beautiful, cursed thing to behold. 

For she would suffer everyday she refused to be tamed. Some days he wished that she were born a silly girl who dreamed only of knights and babes. Life would prove much more tolerable then.

The thought of that Lyanna made him chuckle as he opened the door to Brandon’s chambers. He was instantly taken aback by the scene in front of him. Instead of a meeting with only his son, there stood his eldest son, his second son, Lady Ashara Dayne, and the Crown Prince. 

His stomach fell. Any hope of rest that night disappeared. 

The four figures stared intently at Lord Stark as he entered the room and then still as he made his way to wooden chair. The man was too exhausted to support himself especially with the knowledge that whatever was coming would compound the weight he already felt.

Upon sitting, he did not utter a sound for minutes. Crackling embers in the fireplace was the only noise that filled the silence.

Eventually the older man directed his hard gaze towards the prince. “Do you know why we are here?” He saw the dragon shake his noble head. Lady Ashara had found him after the feast, saying that she needed him and it was important. 

When he asked why she did not ask for her brother all she said was that her brother would fail to be sensible about the situation. All she told him that she was entering a wolf den and feared doing it alone.

The lady had always been kind to him and a true friend to Elia, so he followed her right into Brandon Stark’s chambers where the Stark sons stood waiting.

Turning away from Rhaegar, Lord Rickard pointed his stare at his eldest son. He saw the man’s posture tense. Whatever the reason for their gathering he knew he did not wish to hear it, and Brandon did not wish to tell him. Fingers pressed against his temple, in an attempt to cease the throbbing.

“Father,” his broad shoulders stood straight as if he were trying not to fold under an enormous pressure. “Lady Ashara is with child…..She says it is mine,” he finished in a tone that seemed far from convinced.

At this Lady Ashara looked outraged, “Do not assume me to be some common whore who would not know the father of her child,” she spit out. All of the men looked at her for a moment, and then eyes turned back to Brandon. 

Rickard held up his hand to silence the two. Bickering and blaming was the last thing he would tolerate. Letting out a deep breath, trying not to think about all his son had jeopardized he inquired to when their relationship took place. 

“During my time in King’s Landing,” As soon as he heard the words Lord Stark gave a dry, mocking chuckle. A wave of disappointment flowed through him. During the time where Brandon was meant to representing their house, he was disparaging them. How ironic.

He knew his son’s vices. Time after time he watched his stare linger for seconds too long on pretty maidens, but how could he have been so reckless? 

There was a heaviness that weighed in the room. Each person wrapped in their own thoughts, their own fears of what this would do. 

“Lady Ashara,” he called quietly as he motioned for her to step closer to him. The young woman carried herself with dignity despite the situation. Her jet black hair was tied in an ornate fashion, and she wore a deep berry colored gown that seemed to warm her skin. 

For a mere second, Lord Rickard saw not Lady Ashara Dayne, but his own daughter. He wondered the plausibility of Lyanna in such a situation. He wondered how he would prefer the father’s father speak to her. With care, he answered silently.

“What is it, my dear, that you wish to gain from bringing us this information?” His tone was not accusatory. She did not seem one to blackmail. As a daughter from a respectable house in Dorne she did not need for much. “If I am correct Dorne is accepting of bastards, so you would not face shame going home without a husband.”

Before answering she swallowed deeply, “Sir, all I desired was for the opportunity for my child to know their father.” Her voice was soft yet strong. She refused to be shamed

At this he nodded. He believed her, and she was right in doing so. His son should have the chance to meet his kin. But what could Brandon offer her? He was in an impossible situation.

The condition of the coalition was every House agreed in supporting Rhaegar’s claim so to prevent infighting when the fateful day finally arrived. If Hoster stepped back there was no predicting which other lord would also leave.

While he had not told his sons any specifics of the Prince’s plan to depose the King he had allowed that there was a grave need to establish alliances among the Great Houses. Needs more grave than simply advancing personal power.

To marry her was to disrespect Catelyn and Hoster Tully. It would wreck the alliance they were trying to forge. Perhaps it would even prolong the Mad King’s rule for decades.

To acknowledge the bastard after the wedding they were risking Lord Tully calling for a nullification of the union, for it took place under false pretenses. And even if his demands for nullifying did not bear fruit, the shame and tension it would bring to every party would be immense. 

Rickard looked over to see the wheels in the prince’s mind turning as well. Plans were going to be altered. People would have to sacrifice in order to make this right. 

With a heavy sigh he broke the silence. “I refuse to allow you to carry the weight of this child’s life alone, my dear. My son has shamed you and himself. It would be wrong to neglect his role. Because of that the pair of you shall be married.”

Shock crossed every face in the room. Brandon began to stutter about Catelyn and the alliance. Rickard replied that he should have remembered his betrothed three months pri-.

“No!” Rhaegar snapped. All heads turned towards the prince as his fist crashed onto the desk he leaned on. “I will not allow you to sacrifice what we have worked so hard to build simply because your son was not able to control himself.” The prince’s voice seethed with venom. His hands were clenched, his jaw set. It was all in attempt to mind his temper. 

Calmly, Lord Rickard inquired what of Lady Ashara’s honor.

“Bastards are accepted in Dorne. You acknowledged this yourself. She can return with enough gold dragons to live a satisfied life, funded by the Crown.” Rhaegar knew it was callous of him and unfair to Ashara, but he would not allow for his father to continue wrecking chaos in the Red Keep. He was able to swallow the suffering of some if it meant protecting the realm.

“What of the shame on our family, my prince? The shame of knowing that there would be a child, who was half Stark, growing up so far from here, never to know half of his family.” The Warden of the North had a strong sense of honor, and he would not stand for his son to be relinquished of his duty as a father nor would he be barred from his grandchild. 

“I am sorry for how difficult this is. But I beg for you to forsake your pride or else you will forsake all of our safety,” Rhaegar ground out. “Any truthful admission of that babe’s paternity would cause the Tully’s to sever all ties with House Stark. You know that!” 

Fire met ice in a violent clash. Neither were willing to waiver on the matter. For each, everything they cared for was at stake. One had a duty to his family, the other to his realm. 

The room had grown colder since every arrived. Orange flames in the fireplace died to embers. In that cold, stony silence it was Eddard’s chance to speak.

“What if I marry you?” Ned locked eyes with Ashara as the proposal hung in the air.

“We marry quickly, quietly before you begin to show. We travel to Dorne or Essos for the length of the pregnancy. After the babe is born we can bring it back here to Winterfell or stay in Dorne or go anywhere really. No one is shamed. No one would know the truth. The baby would have a Stark father and would be cared for.” His solemn face was unreadable. His voice clear and steady.

“Of course, my lady. It is your decision whether to accept me.” He continued. “The last thing I desire is for you to feel as if you had no choice in the matter.” 

For a moment no one else in the room existed. Haunting violet bored into pale, gray, searching for a hint of dishonesty or insincerity. None could be found. Slowly she nodded, never taking her sight away from that long face. “I accept.”


	6. Another Alliance Saved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaegar and Lyanna share a moment but then reality sets it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Sorry it's been so long. School has been craaaazy. Also it's just been a long time since I've thought of this fic so I hope everything is still consistent with previous chapters. I'm pretty sure everything is okay, but if not just let me know! Feedback is always welcome and hopefully the next update won't take so long :)

Winterfell was bustling with excitement for the wedding. Only a day away and servants scrambled in preparation. Imported clothes draped almost every flat surface. Thousands of ivory candles were being mounted. Rhaegar had decided to stroll through the castle. Having just finished breaking fast with Elia, he time to wonder before his next meeting. 

Their morning meal was mostly taken in silence. With all of the excitement the night before concerning Brandon, Ashara, and Eddard he had forgotten to visit her chambers. To be honest even if he had remembered he still might not have gone. His body had called for sleep like a siren called a sailor. 

Still, Elia was not very pleased with him in the morning. Her mouth sat in a pout throughout most of the meal. She was nursing a wounded pride. He knew that. For how undesirable a woman must be for her husband to simply forget the prospect of bedding her. 

When he finally excused himself, Rhaegar laid a kiss on her dark hair, whispering words told his wife how much beautiful she was, how much he desired her. They must have only sounded hollow to him because they brought a small blush to her cheeks.

Guilt was a nasty feeling that accompanied Rhaegar most days. As Elia turned red at his loving words the woman who met him in his dreams was Lyanna. This morning she failed to show up to the training grounds, and the disappointment the prince felt washed over him was almost too much to bear. 

Whatever power the wolf had cast over him was inexplicable. Never had a person consumed his thoughts so completely. The lack of rest was beginning to show on his face. Dark rings were surfacing below amethyst eyes. As he continued walk around the halls of Winterfell there was he was fighting an internal battle. 

Part of him, the reasonable, sensible half was looking forward to her wedding night. All of these feelings will dissipate when she entered the sacred union of marriage. It was a lie he was desperate to believe. 

The other part of him wanted nothing more than to steal her away. To find some reclusive cottage where they would spend the rest of their time. Rhaegar knew the thought was insane. He would be seen as mad as his father were he to steal away Lady Lyanna. It did not make the fantasy any less appealing, he thought bitterly. 

Laughter pulled the prince back to the present. The hearty sound echoed and filled the area with happiness. Curious, the man followed it to the source. He came to a door that stood between him and the sound. Had it not been ajar Rhaegar would not have peered through. He had no interest in prying, but since the door was not locked he could not imagine he was walking into anything private.

Or maybe he had, he thought with a grin as he saw what was so amusing. The door was to an empty room that was most likely used for entertainment. Two figures stood in the middle of the open space. 

Young Benjen Stark was bent over, holding his sides while his sister stood looking crossed.

“I cannot fathom why you find it so amusing,” Lyanna snapped. The sight stirred something in Rhaegar. Even her annoyance he found desirable. 

The boy who stood next to her had finally ceased laughing. When he stood straight he towered over his sister by more than a foot. A silly smile was still plastered on as he reached out to take his sibling’s hands in his.

“I promise to take this duty with the utmost sense of duty, my lady.” He drawled out the title with exasperation. “Now, where were we? Ah yes, trying to show you how to dance like a proper girl,” The joke resulted in his sister punching his arm.

“Do not mock me, little brother. While you may reap joy from this experience I for one do not.” The night previous during the feast her father had said that she and Benjen should meet early in the morn to practice their dancing for the wedding celebration. Even before she could begin to protest her father said it was not a choice. Lyanna thought of fighting him harder on the matter, yet his wrinkled face was heavy with exhaustion so she eventually agreed. 

If she did not want to dance like lady for her brother’s wedding, fine. But she would be a proper noble woman at her own he said. 

Her brother arrived at her chamber’s just as she was about to escape to the training yard. He had always been an early riser and his awful timing meant that she had not been able to see Rhaegar. That just added to her rotten mood. 

Again Benjen tried to begin to lead her in dance, already they had been practicing for hours but still she stumbled early. Her feet refused to move in the coordinated patterns that were expected. The young wolf winced in pain as his sister’s foot came crashing down onto his. 

A groan of frustration filled the room. What use was any of this? Was it for her dear betrothed? Well Lyanna cared little if he was disappointed with her. Maybe if she showed how appalling she was as a woman Robert would reconsider their union. Unlikely, she scoffed, the arrogant pig had already formed a perception of the Lyanna he loved and refused to accept that the real Lyanna was quite distant from his fantasy. 

Coughing interrupted the Stark children. They whipped around to see the Crown Prince walking towards them. Dumbfounded Benjen fell to his knee. His hand reached up to tug at his sister. Lyanna gave a quizzical look before remembering that to him she was not so familiar with the prince. A moment later she too bent down. 

Some part of her found it exhilarating to act as if she did not know Rhaegar. In front of others they would speak with the utmost formality. With smiles in their glances, each could tell the other also found humor in the ruse. He would call her “Lady Lyanna” in a serious tone that he had not used since their first meeting. She would always ask if he was his enjoying his time in Winterfell, to which he answered that he found every moment from dawn to dusk enjoyable. This would make Lyanna squirm inside, for dawn was their time together.

The prince called for them to rise, saying that such formality was unnecessary. In the morning rays that filtered through the high windows the dragon looked breath taking. Lyanna hated to admit that all of ladies’ flutters about Rhaegar’s beauty were warranted. 

With molten hair resting just past his shoulders, cheekbones that would cause any woman envy, wide shoulders that created edges of a triangle as they narrowed to his hips the man was simply overwhelming. 

Laughter was apparent in his voice when he inquired why they were practicing dancing. Had their septa not taught them many years ago? Benjen, flustered in the presence of the Crown, choked out that often they had skipped the lessons, and that Lyanna was meant to learn for her wedding. 

The reminder of the girl’s upcoming union caused something ugly to rear inside Rhaegar. Last night’s dinner he watched Robert Baratheon take a seat next to her. 

A jealousy raged like wildfire when Lord Baratheon leaned to whisper in the girl’s ear. It was not your place to feel possessive of her, he kept telling himself, not that it made a difference. 

“Though if I am honest, Sire, my sister simply is not equipped for being a lady. She would have been better off being born a man,” Benjen finished. 

Lyanna beamed at the comment. Never had her brother said anything so kind, though to most she knew it would be seen as a blatant insult. 

Rhaegar’s curiosity ended up besting him. Knowing from their morning conversations that she detested feminine expectations he wondered if the impossibility of such abilities like dance were due to the fact she could not perform them or simply refused to out of a bull headed stubbornness.

“Well, I must say that my own mother demanded that I be versed in such talents. Perhaps you would be kind enough, Lord Benjen, to allow me the opportunity to assist Lady Lyanna.” He tried to maintain a serious tone, yet Lyanna’s incredulous expression at his proposal made it difficult. 

Her brother too was surprised, such an offer from the prince was kind, and he did not waste time fathoming why in all the Seven Kingdom’s he would ever want such an experience. He already spent most of his morning in that cursed hall. Any excuse to leave was welcomed. Perhaps, if time allowed, he even be able to get to see the knights practice in the training yards. 

Without any protest Benjen stepped away from his sister and out the door. The pair left standing met eyes for the first time. While Rhaegar burst into a devious grin, Lyanna just pouted. What a pretty pout she had, the prince thought. He felt the urge to wipe it away, though in a much different manner than he had wiped away Elia’s. 

His wife’s copper face floated through his mind as he took a step closer to Lyanna. He swatted it away quickly. Nothing is going to come of this, he reassured himself. It was only a dance lesson. 

******************************

Rhaegar’s long, pale fingers reached out in offering. Her heart skipped a beat as she accepted it. A hitched breath escaped when he tugged her swiftly, closing the small distance between them. 

“What a shame it would be,” he murmured softly, almost as if the comment was to himself. Chuckling softly at her confusion he continued. “I was thinking how much of a shame it would be if you were born a man.”

The forwardness caused Lyanna to rear her head. Her face burned as a heavy silence washed over them. The air in the room felt stifling. It was difficult for her to form a coherent thought as the prince’s words floated in her head. His rich voice was laced with something darker than anything previous exchange they had. All she could do was let out a nervous sound. A feeling of vulnerability rooted itself deep. Despite the dress she wore she felt completely exposed. 

Gently, slowly he began to pull her across the floor. At first she lost her footing, but every time she would let out a curse his finger would turn her chin up towards him. Purple locked with gray as he would softly reassure her. Just look at me he said. Do not lose my gaze. 

A heavy lump lodged in her throat as she followed his instructions. Her skin felt as if it was burning in every place he touched her. Bird songs filtered in through the windows and echoed in the chamber. Rhaegar led her across the floor. His long fingers clutched her own and her waist pulling her gently with him. Lyanna could barely hear her own thought. The sound of her heart was pounding so hard it seemed to drown everything it.

As the dance ended the two figures did not pull away from each other. Fingers remained intertwined and bodies kept close even as they stopped moving entirely. Lyanna’s eyes flickered down for a quick moment to stare at the prince’s mouth. His lips were full and parted slightly. She wondered how they would feel pressed against hers, what sort of pressure would his body on hers feel like. Redness rushed to her checks as she bit her lip trying to get the notion out of her head. All she could imagine though was being anywhere besides Winterfell with a handsome prince by her side. 

“I want to run away,” the words tumbled out of her mouth as soon as they entered her head. Amethyst eyes showed no surprise at the sentiment. 

“Where to?” his fingers had unlaced from hers and were running across her jawline. It was a temptation he had for a long time. He could imagine her free from the walls of Winterfell.

“Anywhere. I could go live in the Free Cities. I do not need that much to get by. I could be a sell sword. I have been practicing, you know” There was a playfulness in her tone that made him smile. And while she spoke in a light hearted tone, Rhaegar knew that some part of her was truly considering it. Lyanna had an admiral sense of determination. Never had he met someone who was so dedicated to their own dreams. It was part of what made her so wild. She lived for no one but herself. 

Shivering under his fingers, part of her wanted to ask him if he would ever think of running away. Such a question would be silly. He had so many obligations in King’s Landing. But maybe he would leave, maybe he was just as tired of it all as she was. 

“Do you like being a prince?” She asked instead. Maybe if he showed hesitation she would have her answer. 

Now this question had startled Rhaegar a little. It was difficult to answer. Did he enjoy it all? Of course not, but he thought he would make a good king and wanted the opportunity to help others. He had so many duties that it seemed impossible for him to forfeit them.

His fingertips had moved from tracing her jawline to cupping her face with his palm. His thumb laid lazily on the corner of her mouth. The situation was compromising, he knew that, yet it felt to satisfying to have her in his arms. 

Struggling a bit to find his words in the haze of the beautiful girl he started, “I do enjoy parts of it. I love my realm. I feel as if it’s my duty to help those who rely on the Crown.” His voice was filled with hesitation. He knew what she wanted him to say. Would he run away with her? Would he think about it? Of course he had. But he couldn’t. Not as long as his father sat on the Iron Throne. 

Blood curdling screams from burning peasants filled his mind. He had spent so much time forging the alliances. He could not fail those who put their faith in him. The alliance….oh god what was he doing? He had put so many doubts about her marriage in her head. Now she was thinking of running away. Robert Baratheon would never ally himself if the Starks shafted him. They needed the Stag like the needed the Trout. If one house withdraws who knows how many else will?

His hands dropped from her immediately, breaking the trance the pair had been in. They balled tightly by his side until his knuckles turned white. Shock took over her features. Rhaegar sputtered out some excuse for leaving as he turned quickly on his heel. Hurt was the last thing he saw on her face. 

The hall was empty as he briskly made his way back to his chambers. The thud of a heavy door closing rang in the background. He could hear feet patter after him quickly. He was turning a stone corner when her hand grab onto his elbow. 

“What in the hell was that?” Her face was flushed from chasing after him. There was anger, confusion, and hurt all in that furrowed brow of hers. Everything had happened so suddenly. She was still whirling from the prince’s change in demeanor. Gray eyes searched his for some sort of explanation. 

Rhaegar took a deep breath as he tried to steady his voice. It was impossible for him to hold her gaze. Shame bubbled inside him for what he was about to sever.

“I’m sorry, Lady Lyanna. I just realized my actions were inappropriate. I take full responsibility for putting those awful thoughts of stealing away in your head. It was improper, and I do not know what I was thinking. You of course should marry Lord Baratheon. He makes for a splendid match.” His words fell flat. They were strained because the last thing he wanted was for her to know how often he had thought of stealing her away. 

Lyanna was dumbfounded by everything he just said. She thought he cared about her. She thought he had supported her. That if anyone knew the unfairness of the entire situation it would be him! But beyond the confusion laid fury. A scowl twisted her features as she glared at him. “How dare you?!” She seethed. Her finger jabbed into his chest. 

“How dare you even think that you’re the reason I do not wish to be married! I hate to destroy your conceded little fantasy, but you do not have such a power over women that you can just convince them to leave their betroths. I am not such a little twit that I had to be inspired by you to come to such a decision.” Her voice was quiet because she knew no one could hear, yet that did not make the words any less heated. 

The prince simply stood there. His body was frozen as she continued to rage on. “And do not act like you had no idea what you were doing. You knew perfectly well what you were doing when you touched me! It was just a game for you though. A bored little prince who thought it would be fun to find a northern plaything.” Venom saturated every word.

“Lyanna, please-“ his soft tone was broken by her fury. 

“No, you do not get to say my name. You do not get to act as if you care.” She took several steps back. Her chest heaved slightly as the adrenaline coursed through her small figure. Her steely gaze showed nothing but resentment. A winter’s chill spread through his body despite the warm spring air. 

“Now if you will excuse me, Your Grace, I must attend to something more appropriate,”


	7. Family, Duty, Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Brandon's wedding night truths are told, conversations are had, and a decision is made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter before the time skip! How exciting!

The sweet bard’s song floated through the feast hall as couples twirled around. The wedding ceremony had gone swimmingly, much to the surprise of Rickard Stark who thought that during the vows the walls of Winterfell were going to tumble. It would have been in line with the past week’s events he thought ruefully. But thank the gods his eldest was now married. His gaze lingered on the married pair. 

Brandon was already several cups into the Dornish wine. Sweet, pretty Catelyn sat nervously beside him. She took thanks from many ladies who gushed over her luck. Brandon Stark! What a fine man, they all sighed. 

A fine man indeed, Rickard snorted softly. He loved his son. Truly he did, yet his old heart was filled with pity as he looked at his young bride. A lifetime of sadness awaited her, for her husband would not change. There would be another Ashara some day. But there would be no Ned to help clean the mess. 

Lord Stark’s eyes traveled to see his other children. Lyanna looked miserable next to her betrothed. Her body sat stiff as Robert laughed heartily. Wild, unkempt hair was fighting against their ornate binds as if to show how every fiber of Lyanna fought propriety. 

She looked like a broken horse. Her usual brightness was being strangled out and an empty shell was left. Suddenly she tilted her head towards him like she felt herself being watched. Gray eyes looked up to meet gray. A small smile tugged at her lips as Rickard gestured her over. 

Fighting the crowd of dancers she made her way to the front of the hall. Her deep blue dress contrasted beautifully against her pale skin. Several men’s gazes followed her as glided up to her father. Lyanna was beginning to show the signs of womanhood. Curves were filling out, her face was loosing childish roundness. Lord Stark’s heart felt a twinge of sadness as his daughter reached him. 

She bent down to lay a soft kiss on his bearded cheek. The hot breath tickled and brought back memories of a younger Lyanna. His daughter would climb onto his lap after meals, insisting that he tell her stories of the First Men. 

A pressure swelled in his chest. Soon she would leave Winterfell for a new home. She would begin a new family in Storm’s End. He was losing all of his children so quickly.

All because of Southron politics, he thought blackly. 

This alliance of the Great Houses was taking a toll on the old man. Lord Stark lacked the patience for politics and the debacle with Brandon and Eddard several nights prior proved too close to the breaking point for comfort.

Ah, Eddard. A mixed wave of pride and regret washed over him at the thought of quiet Ned. His solemn faced revealed little the night he agreed to marry Ashara Dayne. Under any other circumstance the union would warrant a grand celebration, for she was disarmingly beautiful. She had a coy smile that seemed eternally on her lips. Her raven locks and violet eyes could bring a man to his knees. 

And fall to their knees they hard. Rickard knew that Brandon regretted his affair with Lady Dayne, or at least he regretted how the entire thing ended. But for Ned to clean up his brother’s mess was an act that Rickard not even begin to internalize. 

He will never see her as more than his brother’s, Lord Stark thought solemnly. The weight of such a realization must have been heavy on Ned’s shoulders. The father could not fathom how his son could bear it as he did. 

As Rickard looked upon the face of his pretty daughter, he wondered if somewhere under the wildness laid a piece of Eddard’s sense of duty. It had not been an easy feat for him to relinquish his child to a marriage. The matter was utterly different for girls. No one was guaranteed happiness within the bonds of matrimony, yet unlike men women are often forced to suffer a slow death under the suffocating restrictions laid out by their lord husbands. 

This was especially true for a girl with Lyanna’s fire. He never wished to see his little wolf suffer he thought wistfully as he cupped his hand on the side of her face. But how many would suffer if a war broke out, a consequence of the Mad King’s growing sickness?

How many men would die, wives be harmed, villages destroyed in a war between the Great Houses? Too many, he decided dejectedly. Lyanna might not be happy in marriage, but she could grow comfortable in Storm’s End, in role as it’s Lady. Some lies a father was so desperate to believe. 

“Father,” a soft voice called him out of his thoughts. Her head tilted slightly as she assessed her father’s far off expression. 

“My daughter,” his voice was also soft, unable to hold her gaze for too long. It was almost impossible to hear him over the merry music dancing off the walls. The pair existed in silence for a few more moments just drinking the sights in the great hall in. 

Lyanna’s gaze refused to look to her right. She knew what sat there, the prince and his wife. Rhaegar had consumed her every thought since their fight. It was infuriating really. 

He had engaged in some deluded fantasy about he being the one who convinced her to leave. Ha! She thought scathingly. As if she needed a man to reveal to her she would be stifled in marriage. And then he tried to tell that every conversation they had, every touch, was just a mistake that he had to apologize for. 

Of course it was not right for them to act like they did. She knew that. She knew that all of her thoughts of him late at night in her chambers were improper. But that does not mean it was a mistake she thought stiffly. Frustrated tears welled inside her eyes as an icy fury raged inside. 

No, she shook herself and refused to cry over him. It was already unbearable that he plagued her constant waking thought. She would not let him make her shed a tear as well. Mentally berating herself Lyanna could not believe she had been so stupid as to have allowed the prince to rile such warm feelings inside her.

Unable to control it, her gaze flickered towards his table and in the corner of her eye she could see how beautiful he was. He was wearing a black tunic that was detailed with blood red threading. No doubt such a suit cost a fortune. It was worth every golden dragon, for it fit his body like a glove. His molten silver hair was tied back on his head. That did not stop a few stray strands to wisp around his face though. 

Her eyes narrowed as she saw his wife, the princess, lean into him. The Dornish girl seemed pale despite her copper complexion as she spoke into the shell of his ear. A look of concern fluttered across Rhaegar’s face. He reached out to take her small hand in his. 

Princess Elia nodded and then excused herself from the high table. It was an intimate scene in a sea of people. An intense pang shot through Lyanna, and in that moment she felt as if was going to be sick. 

Hastily she swiveled her head to anything else in the room. Just in time she caught site of her brother, Ned, walking out the great hall with Lady Ashara Dayne. Her mouth gaped as the pair exited the celebration.

Lyanna turned to her father who had also been watching them. He must have felt the astonishment that radiated off his daughter, for he looked uncomfortable as straightened in his tall chair. 

What was Eddard, quiet Eddard, doing with such a woman? He could barely form a word to the daughters of Lord Stark’s bannermen. Where did he even meet Lady Ashara? Here over the past week? Lyanna had not seen the two with ten yards of the other nary one time. 

As if reading her mind all her father said in his gruff voice was, “They are to be married.” At this Lyanna simply balked. It seemed as if for the first time in her life she was left lost for words.

Rickard cleared his throat. He saw no point in lying to her. She was no longer a child needing of protection. And maybe, just maybe, if he explained the situation it would make her own union more tolerable. So…. he told her everything.

**************************************

Ashara shivered slightly as a breeze passed through the open window in front of her room. The lady had not gotten used to the Northern weather, and it seemed she wouldn’t any time soon.

In the very brief words her and betrothed exchanged it was decided they travel to Dorne after Lady Lyanna’s wedding. Where they went after she gave birth was something they had yet to talk about. 

She had tried to get to know more about the second Stark. During the wedding feast she asked him to dance. He suggested they walk instead. The last few days had been awkward to say the least. Eddard barely looked at her, let alone speak to her. Brandon on the other hand could barely stop staring at them. 

Something unrecognizable was in his gaze. Maybe it was jealousy, fury, sadness, or guilt or maybe a mixture of all. Whatever it was Ashara cared not. Ever since the night Ned had proposed she had vowed to be the best wife a husband could ask for. 

She had heard stories that her betroth was shy, especially with women. That was perfect. If there was anything Lady Ashara was apt at it was making a man feel comfortable.

“Thank you for walking me back,” she purred. The candlelight created dancing shadows across their faces as they stood arms length apart in front of her door. In a deep purple dress that made her eyes look even more tantalizing, she closed the distance between them. He towered over her petite frame. His broad shoulders and bearded face reminded her of the stories of Northern men from childhood.

She placed a hand on his chest and cocked her head to the side to expose the long line of her neck. Batting her eyes under long lashes she trailed her other hand to the back his head. Her fingers twined in his dark hair. Biting her lip coyly she allowed her eyes to flutter shut as she arched up to take his mouth with hers.

He interrupted her though, untangling her hand with his. The action jarred her. When violet eyes opened they were met with solemn gray. Stiffly, Ned Stark took a step back from his betrothed. 

Embarrassed by the rejection, Ashara felt heat crawling up her neck. Unable to recall the last time a man turned down one of her advances she felt unequipped for the situation.

Nervously she let out a chuckle. “What? Do you find me undesirable?” The forced playfulness in her tone almost made her cringe. Once again she close the distance between her and Eddard. 

He caught the tops of her arms with his rough palms where he held her in arms length away. For several seconds he just stared at her. The silence seemed to last for an eternity. 

Slowly he began, “I do not think a single man in the Seven Kingdoms could find you undesirable.”

Such a comment would normally reinforce Ashara’s own experiences, yet coming from man who just rejected her made the sentiment hard to believe. 

“Well, it appears you do,” she retorted shortly. The embarrassment he caused irritated her greatly. An ugly feeling bubbled inside her. Her eyes were cast down because she did not want to see what she was sure was disgust on her betrothed’s face. 

His hands were still on her arms, and suddenly she felt like they were binding like chains. Briskly she shook herself free and took a step back. “Is the how it is supposed to be? The man who is to bed me for the rest of my life does not find me desirable while every other man in the realm does? How ironic.” Ashara seethed.

Her eyes flickered up quickly to watch his expression. What she saw was annoyance. It was held in his furrowed brow and pursed lips. 

“I do find you desirable, I am not blind,” he began, his voice tight. As she tried to interrupt he held up his hand to stop her. “It is just that I am upset. And I do not want to know you in that way when I am angry.”

All of the boiling rage in Ashara was extinguished as quickly as it had come. Replacing it was the reality of the situation. A reality she had wanted desperately to forget. 

“We became engaged only a few days ago under what would be most kindly called unpleasant circumstances,” Ned let out a long sigh. 

“I had only thought about my wedding a handful of times, but never had I imagined that I would be marrying a woman my brother had been with, raising a child that was not my blood,” His tone was not harsh. It sounded more tired than anything.

“I am content following my brother’s lead in most every aspect of life. It is my duty as the second eldest. I just never thought I would be second to him with my wife as well.” 

The tension in Ned’s body was still clear. Ashara knew what he had accepted was grossly unfair. She was foolish to believe that he taken such a commitment with ease. In that moment all she wanted was to comfort the man standing in front of her.

She reached out to him yet again, but this time it was to take his hand. “I am sorry to have put your in this position,” she whispered sadly. Ned squeezed her hand gently. Her skin was undeniably soft. He could imagine her using exotic lotion brought across the Narrow Sea. 

It was difficult for him to hold onto his frustration when she looked at him so. It was a wildly different look than she had a few minutes ago. That one had been devious and full of promises, but the way she looked now was of sadness and guilt.

“What’s done is done.” He shrugged. The simplicity of it almost made Ashara flinch, but she also saw some of the tension dissipate from Ned’s body which brought a sigh of relief.

“I just do not want to think of you as anything less than mine before we do anything. And I do not you to feel as if you must seduce me, as if it were a job rather than a pleasure.” He was definitely different than Brandon, she thought. If she had not known better than she would have laughed at the person who said they had the same blood coursing through their veins.

He had given up so much to protect her, had done more for her than any other man had except maybe her brother. Yet she had tried to act with him as she had with every other man. She could see how stupid it was in hindsight.

“Well,” Ashara tried hopefully, “if you would be willing, can we break fast in the morn? It would give us an opportunity to know each other better.” At this Ned nodded slightly. Such an invitation was exactly what he wanted.

He agreed and was about to bid her goodnight when she looked up at him with soft violet pools. Gently she brought his palm to her full lips. 

The Stark son was at loss for words at how beautiful she looked in the dim torchlight. The pressure of her mouth against his calloused skin felt as if it could sear a mark. Looking up to him through dark lashes all she could manage was “Thank you.” 

With that she turned and entered her chambers. Ned stood in the empty hall for a few moments alone, just looking at the wooden door. He let out a heavy, long held breath as he walked back to his own room. The prospect of seeing her tomorrow gave him a small, silly grin.

*******************************************  
Lords and ladies were beginning to retire to their chambers as the festivities grew towards an end. The newly married couple was just escorted to their chambers as part of the bedding ceremony. Poor Catelyn was quite evidently scared. She was visibly shaking as they carted her away.

Lyanna failed to join the crowd. She thought the entire process was degrading and refused to add to it. She stood at the side of the hall, talking with her younger brother. He was meant to distract her from the news her father had relayed earlier that night. Unfortunately he was failing miserably. 

She jumped slightly has a thick arm snaked around her waist, interrupting her conversation. When she turned her head she saw a wobbly Robert Baratheon. He was giving her a giant smile as he tried to gain his balance. Despite the odor of sweat and ale Lyanna tried her best to return the smile. It was strained at best, but he did not seem to notice.

A gnawing pit grew inside as the young Stark girl remembered her father’s words, “you are betrothed to Robert so to tie his house with the alliance.” Lord Stark had told her everything: Brandon and Ashara, Ned and Ashara, Robert and herself, and most importantly Rhaegar’s role as arbitrator, not of the engagements themselves, but of the alliance. 

In that moment it had all made sense, why the prince had changed so suddenly on the issue of her wedding Robert. It was to save the alliance she was unknowingly bent on ruining. The realization was infuriating. Rhaegar had been so sympathetic to her position until it was in contention with his interests. He proved to be the ass she originally suspected him of being.

When her father explained the situation she could see the desperation on his face. He was pleading with her to understand why her union was so important. It was almost as if he had some inkling of what she was planning, as if he knew that she already had a bag packed to leave that night. 

Lord Rickard could not take another embarrassment from his children. And Lyanna refused to be the one who hurt her father so deeply. He had taken such good care of his kids for their entire lives. 

Never had the children felt without love, despite only having one parent. Her father deserved so much more than being notified that his only daughter had run away from her betrothed. 

Shame had swelled inside when she realized she had never considered what running away would do to her family. She would never be able to see them again if she fled. She would leave them with such heartache. 

More than that by fleeing she would undermine all that her family had already sacrificed to keep the alliance intacted. Her father had forfeited his responsibility by allowing Ned to cover for Brandon's shame. And poor Ned, he committed to a life as a replacement for his brother. He would live everyday with a woman who had not chosen him first, but who had only accepted him because no one else would take her. Lyanna could not let all that go to waste. She loved her family too much. 

This is all why she resigned herself to marriage. She barely held in a sigh as she looked into the twinkling eyes of Lord Baratheon. 

“Come on, love.” He tugged her away from Benjen. “Let me escort you to your chamber. You need to make sure to get some rest, for our own bedding ceremony is only a few days out,” his brushy brows waggled as at the mention of their own bedding ceremony. 

It made Lyanna want to flee in the other direction. All she could picture was the pressure of his heavy frame as he drunkly rutted against her, not just for one night but for every night for the rest of her life. 

As the two made their way toward Lyanna’s chambers Robert rambled the entire time. He lamented about how fortunate he was to have such a woman to wed. He failed to notice that his betrothed had not said a word the entire walk. 

She was to occupied entertaining her nightmares to indulge him. As they rounded the final corner the giant of a man grabbed Lyanna’s wrist. 

A breath escaped her as he dragged her against his firm body. Their faces were only inches apart at this point. She tried to tug free from his grip, but it was futile. Even drunk he had the strength of an ox. 

Her eyes glanced around slightly panicked. Again Robert failed to notice to notice her unease. He was too busy drinking the sight of her hungrily. Lyanna squirmed as his piercing blue eyes racked up and down her body, pausing at the swell of her breasts. 

“Lya,” he breathed heavily. “I have wanted you from the first moment I laid eyes on you. It was then that I had proof of the gods, for I knew that they had sent you just for me.” At this he wrapped an arm around her waist, securing her against him.

“My lord,” she began, “please if you could just let go.” The girl had heard stories of what men had done to women they thought was theirs. Thinking about such things terrified Lyanna to near hysteria. 

Robert acted as if he did not hear the request. He bent his burly head down and nuzzled it in the crook of her neck. Lyanna tried helplessly to pull herself away, but he started kissing her pale skin. His large hand unlatched from around her wrist and slithered up to squeeze one of her breasts. 

At the first possible moment she slapped her free hand against his face. The loud snap echoed through the hall. Lord Baratheon let out a nasty curse as he took a step back. 

Lyanna turned on her heel to escape to her chambers, but her betrothed grabbed a fistful of hair. Yanking her so that her back was pressed against his chest he held her there for a moment. 

She cried out at the shooting pain. Trying to pull away only caused him to tighten his fist.

Barely containing his rage, he leaned down and whispered hotly, “if you ever do that again, you will regret it for the rest of your life. Just remember, when you fight you just make it worse for yourself,” With that he shoved her forward away from him. 

She did not turn around to watch him leave. She just waited until she could no longer hear the steps of his heavy boots. Shaking, Lyanna balanced herself against the cold, stone wall so not to crumble to her knees. 

The pounding of her heart and ragged breathing were the only sounds she could hear. Tears began to flood her visions as she imagined what would become of her in only two days. 

It took what felt like forever for her body to stop shaking from fear. What replaced it though was a fury unlike she had ever felt before. 

It wasn’t fair! She wanted to scream. Why did she have to spend everyday with that monster of man? Why was he able to dictate how or when he violated her? Why could she not fight him? 

For the same reason he could hunt, whore, travel, and drink freely…he was a man and she would only be his wife. Rhaegar’s words floated in Lyanna’s mind. Her eyes closed in an effort to still her nerves, but all she could see were two haunting amethyst eyes.

The thought of Rhaegar’s long fingers plucking his harp overtook Lyanna, except instead of playing the instrument they were dragging across her body. 

In that moment she knew what she wanted, and she knew how to get it. With a steeled resolve, Lyanna turned away from her room and walked back towards the other end of the castle. If her lord husband wanted her so badly then fine, so be it. But he would not be the first.


	8. Letting Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A late night visit and some early morning news

Rhaegar had spent much of the night tossing and turning. Worry and guilt plagued him. Praise the gods first wedding had gone smoothly, effectively tying Hoster Tully to his cause. When Brandon and his young bride sealed their vows it felt as an immense pressure was lifted.

Though it was quickly replaced by the thought of Lyanna’s own union. Not only had the young she wolf thought often of fleeing which threatened to ruin everything, but how their last conversation was still seared in his mind. 

Hurt had shone so clearly in her eyes during their fight. The betrayed, accusatory stare haunted his dreams. It is what he wanted, he reminded himself. He wanted to kick the wolf pup away, wanted her not to place her trust in him.

What he had said worked though. She refused to acknowledge him all during the feast. Truthfully, watching her avoid his stare so ardently ached like the twisting of a dull blade in his chest.

No longer could she tempt him, no longer would he fan the flames of escaping Lord Baratheon. Congratulations Prince, you succeeded, he thought ruefully.

Despite all that, a hollow feeling still filled him. He yearned to protect her, to envelope her in his arms. It was a burning desire to bring her joy, almost like a compulsion. During the feast he had been a breath away from apologizing to her in front of all, begging for her forgiveness. 

Instead, though, he just continued to hurt her. Because choosing to save her would mean would something much worse than just the prolonged rule of his deluded father. How would her betrothed react if they fled together? Not well, the prince imagined. 

The Stag would raise hell and high water to reclaim what was his. No, Rhaegar could not save her…nor could he explain what why he acted so cruelly towards her.

What could he say?

_I apologize that you are going to suffer in a loveless marriage, but it is for the good of the realm?_

Such words would only add salt to the wound. They realize the unfairness of the situation and then try to justify it. No, he would let her hate him. He would make that sacrifice if it meant she would marry Robert. 

The ridiculousness of the thought made Rhaegar scoff. _Yes, he did her a great favor. He should pride in how selfless he was to sacrifice his own desire,_ he thought scathingly. _She was so lucky to have him prot-_

A loud pounding on the door tore the prince from his thoughts. He sat up in bed, surprised.

“My prince,” it was Arthur on the other side. What could he possibly need? Rhaegar wondered quizzically. 

“Enter.”

With his grace’s permission the Kingsguard opened the door. Ser Arthur Dayne looked the picture of chivalry in his golden armor. He stood tall in the doorway, failing to cross the threshold though, a steely expression holding his features. 

“You have a visitor,” his voice was strained as if he choked out the statement. Rhaegar’s eyebrows raised at this. Who in the world could it be this late at night? Not his wife, that is for sure. Elia had retired from the feast early due to feeling ill. She was a fragile woman. Often times such things occurred.

Still stone faced, his friend answered his thoughts. “It is Lord Baratheon’s betrothed.” 

A second passed as the statement sunk in. Lyanna? She was here? But why? 

Though her presence was a surprise, his friend’s reaction to it was not. At the beginning of their secret training Arthur had raised his dislike for the venture. It was unwise for the prince to carry on an affair with a betrothed woman he cautioned. 

When Rhaegar denied the existence of the affair his friend only responded with skepticism. Even the way he introduced her was as if to remind the prince of just exactly whose she was.

Stunned and speechless, Rhaegar motioned to let Lyanna inside. Bowing his head, Ser Arthur stepped back in the hall to allow the young woman in the room. As she stepped past him the discomfort was obvious on her face. She could tell the knight disapproved of her being there, yet she refused to be deterred. 

As the door closed behind her, the pair just stared at each other.

His heart was thudding in his ears as he drank the sight of her in. Still wearing her dress from the wedding she looked almost like a full woman. The deep blue contrasted against her lovely, milky skin. Her breasts were swelling at the top of her dress. Cinched in a corset her hips rounded ever so slightly, a promise of the figure to come. 

He was reminded of just how young the girl was. Despite not having experienced so much, Lyanna had always struck him as older. Maybe it was how she viewed the world, how she wished for so much more than husbands and babes. 

Much of her dark hair was falling in tendrils around her face, framing it beautifully. When Rhaegar finally reached her eyes he could see the wolf blood so often talked about it. A wildness consumed her. Her intense gaze made it almost impossible for him to control his breathing.

Lyanna’s skin was burning. She felt the weight of Rhaegar’s gaze on her. It was the same way Robert had looked at her, full of lust. But instead of making her nauseous, this time she felt a foreign sensation pool between her legs. 

The daughter of Winterfell knew she was right for coming to him. No man had ever driven her such reckless behavior before. Despite everything he did to her. Despite he being the reason for her betrothal she still yearned for him to touch her. And she hated him for having such a power over her.

The sight of him bare chested and hair tousled did not help. All he wore was his sleeping britches which hung low on his hips. Smooth muscles were the product of long hours spent in the practice yard. All she could think of was the sweet sensation of having his bare skin pressing against hers. 

“What are you doing here?” Rhaegar asked. His voice was cautious, unsure. “I thought you to be anger with me.”

Lyanna’s lips pursed slightly at this, silently she walked passed him. She allowed her fingers to drag slowly against the edge of the bed as her nerves grew. Casting a glance of her shoulder she caught his gaze. 

“Oh quite.” She breathed quietly. Mentally she congratulated herself at the coolness of her tone. It was a feat to sound as if his presence had no affect on her.

Baffled Rhaegar started, “Then wh-“. He was cut off when the girl continued.

“I am furious. Furious that I am some pawn in your game to be King,’” her mocking tone cut him slightly. She was being honest. Despite being there willingly, she was still enraged.

So she knows the truth, he thought. She was right too, he had used her. Maybe not on purpose or with malice, but debating over such semantics seemed pointless.

The atmosphere of the room grew uncomfortable in the silence. Rhaegar felt awkward in her presence, and she seemed to sense it. 

Lyanna reveled in the evident discomfort on Rhaegar’s beautiful face. With a furrowed brow he looked everywhere at her. Every one of their previous exchanges he had been in the dominant position, whether it was teacher or prince. But here, in his room? She felt drunk on power. 

“I am here to ask you for something,” she began, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft, but Rhaegar heard the presumption in it. Whatever she was about to ask for she expected to him to fulfill it. 

Closing the distance between them, Lyanna looked up at her prince. Standing at least a head taller than she, he would have been intimidating in any other circumstance. But to a she wolf on the hunt he looked like prey.

“I want you to take me bed.” Her request was simple. The silence that followed was deafening. Images of past fantasies swarmed Rhaegar’s mind, her body arching in pleasure, the sounds she made when he touched her. A groan nearly escaped him at the mere thought.

“You are betrothed,” he stated. 

“And you have a wife,” she shrugged. “Right now, I care not about either.” All she wanted in that moment was to be ravaged. 

With an uneasy breath Rhaegar tried to steady himself. “I cannot promise you anything. I cannot make you a queen or a consort,” He did not want yet again to disappoint her.

“I want nothing more than what I asked,” she replied icily. It was partially true. She did not dream of being queen or his mistress. What she desired was for him to whisk her away from the Seven Kingdoms. But they both knew that to be impossible, so she would settle for tonight.

“I want you to be my first, before my lord husband.” She continued. Her fingers reached up to the front laces on her dress. Gingerly she tugged at them. “Rhaegar, show me what I shall never have again.” 

The sadness in her voice was heart breaking. Without thinking, he grabbed her fingers, halting their task. He lacked the strength to deny her. Of course he would show her what she was asking for. But it would be at his own pace. 

Forcing a slight grin, Rhaegar wanted nothing more than to kiss away her worry. Suddenly slipping his hand around her waist he pulled her forward. Faltering slightly Lyanna’s eyes widened in surprise…and victory.

“It is improper for a woman to such things like being bedded,” his tone was light. In that moment all the circumstances surrounding them melted away. The night was meant just for the two of them.

With a devilish smile Lyanna leaned into him, “I regret to inform his grace that I was raised by wolves. They are sadly lacking in propriety.”

Rhaegar bent down swiftly and took her mouth with his. She kissed him back enthusiastically. Her arms tightened around his neck. A surprised gasp escaped her as he swept her up in his strong arms. Instead of placing her on the bed though he pressed her against the closest wall. 

His tongue ran over her lips, asking to enter. She obliged him willingly. With expertise Rhaegar wormed his hand between their bodies. He finished undoing the laces she had been working on. The dress slipped to expose small, milky breasts. A ragged breath left him as he broke the kiss to stare at her rosy nipples. 

His full mouth returned to kissing her, but this time he traveled down her jawline, her exposed neck. Rhaegar almost gave into the temptation to mark her as his own, but he did not want to saddle her with that come morn. 

Lyanna on the other hand seemed to mind less about marking him. Her nails dug into his back as he kissed her neck. He was certain he would awake to half moons scars. She threw her head back in pleasure when his mouth arrived at her breasts. 

He took his time suckling each. With the free hand that had previously undone her dress he pinched the nipple of the other exposed breast. The sounds Lyanna made were beyond Rhaegar’s wildest dreams. She let out a breathy moan that alone almost brought him to pleasure. 

Holding her carefully, Rhaegar walked towards the bed. He dropped her gently on the mattress. When his hands tugged the rest of the dress off her hips he was left in awe.

For a moment he just stood over her, staring. She was splayed out, flushed, looking back at him with sultry eyes. It took every ounce of control for him not to ravage her right then. No, he thought, he would make sure she enjoyed this.

He slid onto the bed, grabbing her hand, and leading her so that she was sitting on his lap, facing him. Catching her gray eyes with his, he held her stare as he run his long fingers down her abdomen to find her soaking between her legs.

Lyanna’s eyes fluttered shut at his touch. Her mouth formed an O at the jolt of pleasure that shot through her body. He worked his fingers gingerly. His thumb rubbed her nub cautiously at first. Violet eyes watched her face carefully. The last thing Rhaegar wanted to do was scare her. He figured the lessons she learned from her Septa did not include female pleasure, so these ministrations must have been surprising.

Once she looked accustomed to the new sensation, Rhaegar took a finger and inserted into the depth of her wetness. Her small moan encouraged him to go further. He inserted a second finger, curling both upwards to rub the fleshy section inside, with his thumb rubbing her harder now.

Lyanna was gasping for air. Whatever he was doing was causing her body to tighten. She was feeling an overwhelming pressure close to where Rhaegar was touching. His ministrations grew faster and faster as Lyanna jerked her hips. She had fingers knotted in silver hair in an attempt to ground herself. 

It was when he returned his mouth to one of her breasts that black spots erupted in her vision. Unable to stop, she cried out. The wave she felt course through her was sensational. It lasted a split second and an eternity all at the same time. She had no idea how long it took her to recover, but finally when her eyes opened she saw Rhaegar staring at her hungrily. He looked as if he wanted to devour her. The intensity sent another thrill rocketing through Lyanna. 

Without saying anything Rhaegar removed himself from the bed. Still staring at her, he began to unlace his britches. When he took them off he was as exposed as she was. 

Lyanna could see his desire for her. It was thrilling and terrifying all at the same time. She had overheard plenty of stories from the maids about their first times and it always seemed to hurt.

Rhaegar must have been able to sense her uncertainty, for he smiled softly at her. He slowly leaned in, cupped her face in his large hand he kissed her gently as if to reassure her. 

As he crawled on top of her he continued to place soft kisses on her neck and lips. “Lyanna,” he whispered quietly. “are you sure?”

All she did was nod. Rhaegar wished he could do more to comfort her. Honestly he had no conception of the pain she was about to feel. Selfishly, he was excited despite her fear. The thought of how tight she would be was tantalizing. Gently, he guided himself into her warmth.

His eyes rolled into the back of his head when he sank into her heat. Gods, she felt good. She was tight, and wet, and hot. He let out a curse as he tried not to finish right then. Lyanna’s body was tense with pain. Her eyes were screwed shut, her face pinched. 

He kissed her brow in an attempt to comfort her. After a few moments she placed her hands on his hips as to encourage him to continue. Slowly he pushed in and out her. Shuddering, he tried to keep from slamming into her. 

After a few minutes Lyanna’s face relaxed slightly. Her body began arching to meet his thrusts. Breathy pleas for more lead him to push deeper and deeper inside. She was clenching around him, causing him to groan. It was too much to bear much longer. 

With a final jerk he felt himself go over the edge. Vision blurred, Rhaegar exhaled heavily as he climaxed. As he emptied inside her he held himself up with his forearms so not crush her. Her legs and arms were wrapped his body, holding him there. They both existed in silence, completely spent, as they caught their breath.

Eventually Rhaegar pulled himself away. Lyanna sat up, covering her breasts. Suddenly she was incredibly self aware of her nudity.

She watched him walk over to the water basin to wash off. He tossed her a towel from across the room. Confused, she just stared at it.

“It is to clean up,” he clarified. After that they returned to silence. Lost in thought both ignored the other. That was until the prince pealed back the northern fur blankets that covered his bed. As he climbed in he gestured for Lyanna to join. Taken aback slightly, she paused uncertain. 

Again he gestured for her to join him. “It’s cold,” he said. Biting her lip, Lyanna knew she should return to her own chambers. It was dangerous to wait until morning, for servants would be up by then. 

Despite this, she allowed herself to crawl under the blankets with Rhaegar. She allowed there to be some space between them. It seemed a little silly after having just been so intimate that the thought of touching brought heat to her cheeks. Laying in bed, Lyanna let exhaustion overcome her. 

For the first time in days her body relaxed. Within moments she drifted off, able to suppress the thought of who laid next to her and the finite time they had together.

**********************************  
Sweet songs of morning birds awoke her in the morning. Stretching languidly, she peaked her head towards the window to see the sun just beginning to crest over the horizon. 

Time to leave, she thought. Next to her was a sleeping Rhaegar. Silver hair splayed across the pillow. His back was towards her, so she was unable see his face but she was certain it was beautiful. His body rose slowly as he breathed peacefully. 

Lyanna slipped out of the giant bed quiet as a mouse. Gathering her clothing from the night prior she made haste. As she redressed quickly her body felt pleasantly sore. 

Casting her eyes one last time at the Targaryen prince, Lyanna felt a swirl of emotions, resignation towards the life that awaited her; sadness for leaving the man who, for a time, was the only one to understand her; and a very real anger because in the end he used her. 

Before she would acted brashly she left. When she emerged from the room into the hallway the only face that greeted her was Ser Arthur’s. Though “greeted” may have been a strong word. It insinuated some level of pleasure at the sight of her. Only stone coldness met her, that and a little surprise. The knight must have worried the pair had run away under the cover of darkness.

Forcing a smile in Ser Arthur’s direction she promised, “You need not fret for him. I am leaving for Storm’s End in two days.” Calmly, Lyanna made her way to her own chambers.

They both knew what she meant. Rhaegar and Lyanna’s affair was over. Both abandoned reality for a moment to indulge in whim. It was foolish to entertain the notion of anything more. 

Unfortunately, Lyanna had been quite foolish that week.

***************************************

Rhaegar feigned sleeping as he heard Lyanna rummage around the room for her dress. To be truthful, he had not slept at all that night. He was too consumed with the thought of the woman next to him, and the knowledge that he would let her go.

It would have been a lie for him to say that he was happy to see her go. But some part of him was relieved, the part of him that knew better than to entertain such notions of stealing her away to some foreign land. 

As he heard the door to his chambers shut he felt a wave wash over him. It was over. The next time he would lay eyes on her would be her wedding day. A breath shuddered out of him as he tried to push her out of his mind, her smell, touch. 

Minutes or hours could have passed, Rhaegar had no concept of how long he laid in bed. But again it Arthur’s voice that called him back to reality. 

“A crow has arrived for you, your grace.” 

What a normal thing to say Rhaegar thought. His friend sounded as if nothing had changed. Nothing had changed, the prince reminded himself. She was gone.

It surprised him slightly to receive a crow while in Winterfell. He took the letter Arthur had. It was hard for him to imagine anything happening outside of the Northern city’s great, stone walls. Most every single lord was residing in the same castle. 

Absentmindedly he cast his eyes down on the scroll. Numbness consumed him as shock and disbelief at the letter’s content settled in. All the color drained from his face. In that moment, everything changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, it feels great to have this part of the plot done! Remember to comment/kudos (especially comment), it feels great to get those notifications :)


	9. Author's Note

I know it has been a really long time since I last posted. Some stuff happened last year and I got busy, and then I honestly forgot about this story. But I just wanted to let anyone who cares know that I am going to be picking this story up again. I plan to post an actual chapter by Sunday. Thank you to everyone who has commented or liked this story. Your interest really encourages me to continue, and I cannot wait to share more with yall!


	10. From Dorne to King's Landing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned arrives in King's Landing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! New year, new chapter, new title, new summary! Honestly in the midst of writing this chapter I had this complete shift in where I wanted to take the story which is super exciting, but it meant I felt the need to just kinda revamp how I portrayed it. This writing might be a little rough because I'm just getting back into the groove, so if yall have any comments please leave them. I'll be updating fairly regularly for the foreseeable future. The next chapter should be posted in the next week or so.

Rays from the morning sun leaked through the window, warming her tan skin, gently waking her from slumber. Her fingers and toes stretched out as her senses livened. She reached her hand across the soft, silk sheets for her husband, though she found his spot empty and cool. Her eyes fluttered open, scanning the room.

There, with the giant windows open, stood her husband. “Ned,” she called softly, “come back to bed.” The rugged man with a full, northern beard turned his gaze to her. A smile tugged at his lips. He closed the space between them with only several strides. His wife met him with open arms.

Ashara was incredibly indecent. Only thin, white silk provided her body any cover. Not that he desired her to be covered. She looked even more beautiful after three children then she did when they first met.

Though Ned Stark did not like to think of his wife as just beautiful. The whole world knew of Ashara Stark’s beauty. What they did not appreciate was her wit, her strength, or any of the other wonderful qualities that he had discovered over the years.

 He leaned down to kiss her, softly at first. But it deepened. Much like the couple had throughout their marriage. Once they finally pulled away, Ashara looked at him, content dancing in her eyes.

“I do not remember you returning last night. It must have been late.”

“Yes, you sleeping quite deeply. Even snoring.” He remarked lightly.

Ashara Stark scoffed at his comment. “I do not snore.”

“Of course not, my love.” In truth, she did snore. It was not a ruckus. Just a small, soft sound. He knew his wife would never accept that though, so he let her go on believing it was all in jest.

“How fares the King?”

Her question caused him pause. “He appears well.”

While that was true Eddard’s meeting with Rhaegar Targaryen had stirred doubt. He and his wife had only just arrived to King’s Landing from Dorne when the king asked Ned to join him after dinner.

The pair had returned for the upcoming union. Queen Elia had been begging for Ashara’s return for years. The princess’s wedding was not an invitation they could simply turn down.

During their meeting Rhaegar spoke about the possibility of Ned staying in Westeros for the foreseeable future, as an advisor to his majesty.

At first he thought it was the Dornish wine speaking. But it became apparent quickly that the offer was not made in jest.

 According to the Rhaegar, the small council was overrun with overly ambitious men. Perhaps Eddard Stark would serve as a valuable counterweight. Even hours later the Northerner was uncertain about the proposal.

 On the one hand, his king was asking for his service. It was his duty as a subject of the Seven Kingdoms to serve. On the other, it was those same ambitious men and their southron games that made him uneasy.

Only a few of the men were truly loyal to the king. Jon Connington, Hand of the King, had long served House Targaryen. Any person would expect him to run through wildfire for Rhaegar.

But the others? Lord Tywin, Master of Coin; Grand Maester Pycelle; Lord Mace Tyrell, Master of Laws? No, the king would be wise not to trust them.

And maybe he did not. After all, he was requesting Ned’s presence. Yet he was still left wondering _why now?_ The King had sat on the Iron Throne for nineteen years already. His council had remained the same core men for quite a long time. _What changed?_

“When does your sister arrive?” Ashara murmured against his skin, dragging her husband from his thoughts. He had yet to tell her of the King’s offer. Though he would, as soon as he forged his own opinions on the matter.

“Later today if travel was smooth.” Ned’s face faltered slightly at the idea. Ashara cocked her head.

“Are you not excited to see her?” she asked quizzically. Lyanna had always held a soft spot in her husband’s heart.

“It is just so many years have passed. What if….?” He trailed off. Ashara knew the unuttered words her husband dared not to give life to. What if she was different? The couple had not seen Lyanna in almost ten years.

And the last time they had, the Lady of Storm’s End was different. She was icier. As if she had been touched by the White Walkers that their septa told them about as children.

Ned and Ashara spent most of their union in Dorne. They had wanted to start in a place that was untainted from the ugly truth of their marriage. But that escape had come at a cost. They were unable to see the Stark clan as regularly as Ned desired. Only death had brought them back north.

Lord Rickard Stark’s passing brought his children together from all corners of the map. Benjen, a member of the Night’s Watch, received special permission to leave his post for the burial. Lyanna and Robert came from Storm’s End with their son in tow. And lastly it had been Ned, Ashara, and their own children. Brandon and Catelyn had been residing at the castle since their union so that Brandon could grow accustomed to the duties required of the Lord of Winterfell.

When all of the Starks were finally reunited the moment was less than joyous. Rickard’s death loomed over the occasion like a cloak, dimming the reunion. But something else plagued the siblings. Feelings no one dared to give words to: anger, jealousy, a sense of betrayal.

 It was a chilly fall morning when they arrived to the dark gray stones of Winterfell. Lord Brandon Stark stood out front of the iron gates in heavy furs, waiting to welcome Ned and Ashara. The entire time his eyes trailed on their eldest daughter, Nyra. His weathered face gave no indication of the turmoil of emotions washing over him inside.

Even at the tender age of nine Nyra was the spitting image of her mother. Ned thanked the Old Gods every day for that. The trio never spoke of their last time in the North. And it seemed like the new lord had never told his wife. For Catelyn welcomed Ashara with a sisterly warmth. Thrilled by the idea of female companions Catelyn whisked both Lyanna and Ashara away to her chambers.

For the length of their stay the women had been practically hostages. Whether it was in private chambers or the garden the conversations revolved around children, lady’s maids, and wifely duties. It was Catelyn who fostered most of the chatter. Ashara would participate just enough as not to be considered rude. Lady Baratheon, on the other, did not even bother keeping such pretenses. She was quiet for most of the trip. Only speaking occasionally and never more than a handful of words.

Robert Baratheon spoke enough for the pair. Every night in the Great Hall he had been deep into the Dornish wine, raving about the great Rickard Stark. _One of the First Men! A great warrior worthy of his men’s respect!_ His rants fell on deaf ears. Everyone was too enraptured by their dealings to pay head to another drunk lord.

Ned tried approaching his sister several times, in the Great Hall, in the corridors, in the gardens, but every time she found an excuse to retire to her chambers. She was tired she said. From the travel, of course. That is what she would tell him. If Eddard had known that so much time would pass between their meetings it is possible he would have pushed the issue more. The siblings had written sparingly over the years. They never moved beyond mere pleasantries.

She felt like a stranger to him. He was worried that she would be even more distant from him this time. Ned was aware that she resented everyone in her life marrying off to Robert, but honestly, what had she expected? That she would never have to marry?

No, his sister was not so dim witted, even in her youth she knew marriage was inevitable. Then what then? He knew the answer. It was her lord husband. Ned had heard only faint whispers about the going ons at Storm’s End. But what reached his ears made him want to retch. Bastards, whores, drinking, gambling, debt.

She must have blamed him for even introducing them. He was the one who brought Lord Baratheon into her life. Her wedding day came back to him in perfect clarity.

_“Why? Why? WHY?” Lyanna sobbed on the cold, gray stones in her chambers. Her brown hair was tied prettily on top of her head. Her white gown, drenched with lace and beads, laid on her bed. The septa had called Ned in to try and calm her down. She was refusing to get dressed._

_When he slid past the heavy wooden door to see her so broken, his own heart broke. She looked up at him with red, swollen eyes. “Ned,” she coughed out “why?” He knelt down to her, trying to offer some amount of comfort before forcing her to continue. Eddard knew she knew the answer to her question. Their father had confessed everything to her last night. “Because we are all pawns in a King’s game,” Dark and stormy grey eyes met his. And one last sob spilled out._

The Stark wondered how often his sister thought of that moment. And the days that followed. How often did she think that she forged an alliance for a rebellion that never happened?


End file.
